Lesser Evils
by ScottPress
Summary: Harry barely escaped the graveyard with his life. Changed by the experience, he faces new challenges and learns that power requires sacrifices. Revenge, doubly so. OotP AU, Crouch Sr. lives.
1. PROLOGUE: Curtain Up

**Disclaimer:** There is a big disclaimer at the top of my profile page that applies to all fanfiction I post on FFnet. But to be fair: I DON'T OWN HARRY POTTER. Or anything, really.

**AN:** "Lesser Evils" is a rewrite of my previous story, "Mistrust" (which I took down, obviously) and has the same general plot (although quite a few changes will be taking place, for those that are familiar with the original).

**EDIT: **Thanks to **Madame** **Tortilla** and **DjinniFires** for advice on how to improve the prologue.

**PROLOGUE: Curtain Up**

Voldemort's furious screams still rang in Harry's ears when he landed on the wet grass. His body chose this moment to give in to the exhaustion and he felt his hands releasing his wand, the cup and Cedric.

Cedric…

_Another one dead because of me._

If his rebellious side wanted to argue, he was too tired to pay attention. And that was when the haze on his mind cleared enough to let through noise and light. He was instantly deafened by the shouting and blinded by the cameras flashing.

Someone was shaking him.

"Harry!" a powerful voice said, closer than the others. "Harry, I cannot pretend to know what you've just gone through, but you must wake up and tell me what happened. What did you see?" the voice urged.

"Professor… Dumbledore?" Harry mumbled.

"Yes, Harry, it is me. Can you tell me what you saw?"

"Voldemort," Harry whispered, with his eyes closed.

"Voldemort," Dumbledore repeated after him flatly. "Does he have a body now?"

"Yes."

With that, Harry slipped into blissful unconsciouness.

~~oOo~~

Harry deliberately did not open his eyes when he awoke. He could hear voices, familiar voices talking, discussing what had happened during the third task.

"…delusional, Albus," someone was saying indignantly. It was a voice Harry knew, but couldn't quite place. "Again with your crazy theories about You-Know-Who. The man is dead! He _can't_ have returned!"

"You heard yourself what Mr. Potter said yesterday," Albus Dumbledore answered. There was no mistaking that voice. "And I don't believe he was lying."

"I'm not saying he lied, Albus," the first voice argued. "But what _he_ believes he saw isn't necessarily the truth! For all we know, he could have been… hallucinating!"

"Then who do you suppose was behind the kidnapping? I trust you will conduct a proper investigation. A student is dead."

There was a long pause. Harry suspected whoever Dumbledore was talking with had just been reminded of the seriousness of the situation.

"Yes, yes, it is very… _unfortunate_. I shall instruct Amelia to do whatever it takes to uncover the truth-"

"We already know who's responsible," Dumbledore interrupted gently. "I implore you to see reason. At least listen to what Mr. Potter has to say."

Harry opened his eyes and sat up on the bed, ignoring the pain in his muscles. He was in the infirmary.

_They must have moved me here after I fainted. _

For a moment he wondered what to say and when no words came to mind, he stayed silent.

Dumbledore looked at him with a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

"How long have you been awake, Harry?"

"A minute or two, Professor."

"Mr. Potter," the owner of the second voice greeted him with a small nod. "I am truly sorry… the security… well, clearly, there wasn't _enough_ security."

Looking at him now, Harry recognized Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic.

"It wasn't your fault sir," Harry said automatically.

"That's very generous of you, young man," the Minister said. "Now that you're awake, we can deal with… formalities. Yes…"

From his robes, he pulled out a bag full of Galleons and placed it on the nightstand.

"An official ceremony should be taking place, but under the circumstances… I'm sure you can understand. According to the sentries who were watching over the champions during the task, you and Mr. Diggory reached the cup together, but since he is… Well, you are the winner of the Tournament. And that's your reward. A thousand Galleons."

"I don't want it," Harry said immediately. "I don't deserve it. It should have been Cedric's. At least give it to his family."

"Don't be ridiculous, boy!" the Minister snapped. "You won, fair and square. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must really return to the Ministry. Someone has to sort out this mess…"

"Don't you even want to know what happened?" Harry asked.

"You may be called on as a witness in the investigation. Until then, keep your story. And please, don't spread any rumors about You-Know-Who returning, the chaos has already gotten far too out of hand."

"I'm not lying!" Harry insisted. "It's _true_! I saw him! I _fought_ him!"

But the Minister was already gone.

Harry turned to Dumbledore, who was still watching him intently.

"Do you want to know what happened, Professor?"

"I do," he said. "But I would not force you to relive those events so soon. Take a few days to recover. I only ask of you this – do not tell anything to anyone until after you've told me."

Harry considered the offer and shook his head.

"Thank you sir, but I'd rather deal with it now. It'll only get harder if I don't."

"Very well." The old wizard nodded. "You have suffered no grave injuries, so I shall inform Madam Pomfrey not to hold you back when you wish to leave, although you should avoid overexerting yourself. Come see me in my office at your convenience." He turned to leave, but stopped shortly by the door. "If you're feeling a bit weak, there's nothing like a chocolate frog to get your energy up," he added.

"What was that?" asked Ron a moment later. He and Hermione came in just as Dumbledore was leaving and heard the Headmaster's impromptu advice. At least to them it was.

"He gave me the password to his office," Harry explained.

"Oh, right. Sweets. Got it."

Hermione gave the redhead a weak glare, trying to project wordlessly to Ron that he should be worried about his best friend's wellbeing right now.

"How are you, Harry?" she asked softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. It seemed as though she wanted to say more, but apparently couldn't find the words.

"…A little shook up."

"Nobody's saying anything," Ron said. "But there are rumors flying around. Something about," he gulped, "_You-Know-Who_?"

"Hush!" Hermione silenced him. "_Not_ _here_, Ron!"

"I'll tell you," Harry promised. "After I meet with Dumbledore. And Hermione's right – it's not safe to talk here."

"We're not here to question you, Harry," Hermione reached out and squeezed his hand lightly. Harry reacted impassively to the gesture and did not return it. He felt… He didn't know how or what he felt. There were too many emotions mixed together for him to make them out. None dominated, but they were all there, boiling beneath the surface.

"Yeah mate," Ron said, nodding. "Must have been rough."

"Cedric is dead," Harry deadpanned. "_What do you think_?"

Ron's eyes widened and he swallowed loudly.

"Yeah, that… Dumbledore made a speech this morning. Um…"

"Oh Harry." Hermione's eyes were shining with tears threatening to fall. "I'm so sorry. It must have been horrible."

"Wasn't pleasant, to be sure," Harry grumbled. "But I'm kind of getting used to it, you know? I'm mean, it's not like Voldemort hasn't tried before-"

"_Don't say that_!" Hermione shrieked. "Please don't say things like that, Harry. I- I don't know what I would do if-"

She bit her lip, looking ready to start crying openly, but she didn't. It wouldn't be like her to just burst into tears. Then came one of those rare moments of closeness and Hermione launched herself at Harry, enveloping him in a tight embrace. Harry let her hold him for a moment, while Ron just stood and watched, looking as if he didn't know what to do or what to say.

His two best friends stayed a little while longer and Harry acted out the role. He gave the answers he knew they would expect and made appropriate gestures. He could pull off brooding well enough. If either Ron or Hermione noticed it was just a performance, neither called him out on it. He didn't know why, but he couldn't find it in himself to be entirely honest with them at the moment.

He felt more lonely than ever before.

~~oOo~~

Malfoy was waiting for him in the hallway when Harry left the infirmary, having somehow found out when he would be getting out. Or maybe he had waited all night, just to make sure he would catch Harry leaving. Flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, the blond gave Harry his best superior smirk.

"How are you feeling, Potter? Hopefully you still have something left in you. I hear the Dark Lord's parties can get rather _intense_." He whispered he last sentence just as Harry was passing by.

Harry's only response was to bump into Malfoy forcefully, pushing the taller boy back.

"Why you little half-blood-" Malfoy began, but the rest of the words became stuck in his throat when Harry abruptly turned back and shoved him against the wall, grabbing a fistful of the expensive robes and putting an arm across Malfoy's neck. Crabbe and Goyle, dumbfounded, did not react.

"Listen to me Malfoy, and listen carefully," Harry growled. "I heard once that surviving a near-death experience hardens a person. Considering that I've done it more than once, perhaps you should think before you open your big mouth in my presence again."

"Wait until my father-"

"WHAT ABOUT YOUR FATHER?"

Malfoy cringed when Harry screamed the words right into his face.

"_WHAT_ MALFOY? WHAT ABOUT YOUR FATHER?"

"Potter-" Malfoy tried again. Harry cut him off, pressing down harder on his throat.

"I've had _enough_, Malfoy. Enough of your taunts and enough of this petty rivalry. Cross me again and you'll wish you'd never been born."

~~oOo~~

Draco was breathing heavily as he watched Potter stalk away. He massaged his throat and then tore into Vincent and Gregory.

"Why didn't you do anything, you imbeciles?" he snarled at them.

"I- I'm s-sorry, Draco, Potter was just-" Vincent stammered.

"Oh, shut up."

Draco's gaze bore into Potter's back until his nemesis turned a corner.

Putting up an act in front of his 'friends' wasn't hard, considering they were about as intelligent as Longbottom, if more useful. But he couldn't shake off the cold feeling creeping up on him. He'd never seen Potter act like this before.

He was different, all of a sudden. It was… unnerving.

_Father will want to know._

~~oOo~~

Harry marched towards the gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office grim-faced. He didn't bother trying to hide his foul mood or return the greetings of the few people he met along the way.

In front of the gargoyle, he barked out 'chocolate frog' and waited until the rotating staircase brought him before the heavy, oak door. He raised a hand to knock and hesitated.

So... he was going to tell Dumbledore what happened… and then what?

The Headmaster would ask for answers, but he would give none in return. He'd say 'well done', award a few hundred points maybe, and send him away. Harry would spend the rest of the term trying in vain to find answers to the questions that would inevitably arise – and fail. And then Dumbledore would send him to the Dursleys again.

_Not this time._

He was entitled to some answers himself.

_Let's see just how badly the Headmaster wants to know._

He turned on his heel but didn't make two steps before the door opened behind him.

"Harry?" came Dumbledore's voice. "Is something wrong?" He sounded sincere.

"Were it only _one_ something."

He went down the stairs, not waiting for them to carry him.

~~oOo~~

Dumbledore found him atop the Astronomy Tower, leaning dangerously far over the edge.

"Unless I am terribly mistaken, it is long past curfew, Harry."

He did not respond.

"But considering the recent events, I think we can forget about this one night escapade. I am rather surprised however, that your friends aren't here with you."

"Why?" Harry asked, still staring into the dark landscape.

"I assumed you would seek solace in their company."

There was a pause.

"They weren't with me this time. They wouldn't understand."

"And do you blame them?"

"Of course not!" Harry snapped.

Another pause.

"Why didn't you come in?"

Harry gave the old wizard a sidelong glance. "I wanted you to come to me."

"May I ask why?"

"Yes," Harry said. "You may."

He felt uncomfortable under the Headmaster's intense gaze, but tried not to give it away.

"Very well. Why then?"

He took a moment to compose his answer.

"It's incredibly frustrating, you know? To be treated like a child one moment and then expected to act like an adult the next."

"If I have offended you in any way, Harry, I am very sorry."

"I don't feel offended," Harry said. "I don't know how I feel. I just want some answers."

"To what questions?"

"Let's start with the one I asked after I killed Quirrell."

"Ah…" Dumbledore's eyes were filled with regret and compassion. "I did not know you were blaming yourself-"

"I'm not," Harry interrupted. "I don't feel particularly bad about it. He was actively trying to kill me. I wasn't trying to kill him, but it happened. That's not what I meant and I will thank you to not evade the question, sir."

Dumbledore sighed heavily.

"I remember your question, Harry," he confirmed. "How could I not? It had haunted me for years even before you asked it."

"And why would that be?"

"Because, my boy, it is such a simple question and yet is has such a complex and terrifying answer."

"I saw Voldemort come back from the dead, Professor. I think I can handle it."

~~oOo~~

Hermione observed her best friend keenly through the remainder of the semester. Harry was avoiding company and taking long walks along the lake.

She once saw him feed apples to the giant squid.

He wasn't brooding, as was normal for him, even though he tried to appear that way. Quite the opposite - he seemed to be taking things very well, considering. His face was neutral, an unreadable mask. He was polite when someone tried to talk to him, but his short, laconic answers made it clear he wasn't in the mood to talk. The most she could get out of him was that he'd had a talk with the Headmaster the night after he woke up, but nothing more. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't convince him to open up to her so after a few days she stopped trying.

Classes and exams were held sooner than usual due to the investigation the Ministry wanted to conduct - the Aurors didn't want students getting in their way. Therefore, a decision was made to send everyone home a few days early.

Ron mistook Harry's behavior for… well, whatever Ron was thinking about these days . Hermione honestly didn't even care anymore. He'd been a very poor friend to Harry this past year and obviously didn't understand what Harry had had to deal with, instead preferring to let his pride and jealousy get the better of him.

But despite it all, somehow the three of them ended up sitting in a train compartment together. Hermione didn't know what to say to start any sort of conversation. Ron couldn't stay still and Harry looked like he didn't care about the uncomfortable silence. He was sitting by the window, watching the world move past them as the train sped towards London.

Hermione noticed Ron fidget in his place near the door. She shot him an inquisitive look, but he just shook his head before finally turning to Harry.

"So, Harry…" he started lamely, "I wasn't exactly okay towards you-"

He stopped abruptly, scrunching up his face, as if he intentionally bit his tongue for sounding stupid.

"I mean about my… behavior… lately. Look, I'm _really_ _sorry_, okay? It's just you were so _weird_ after the third task and-"

Hermione was already opening her mouth to let Ron know he was being a prat when Harry's head turned to him and he said, "Were you acting differently? Sorry, I hadn't noticed. A lot on my mind, you know."

He spoke in an flat tone, giving no indication of anger Hermione thought he was entitled to, or that he was happy at Ron's turnaround, which was what Hermione had been hoping would happen.

_He's like a completely different person,_ she thought, a conclusion that did nothing to raise her mood.

She immediately tried to rationalize to it to herself.

_Of course he's different. He's been through a traumatic experience._

A voice in her head then argued that it had happened before. Professor Quirrell, the basilisk, the dementors… and Harry stayed Harry.

_But none of those events quite compare to seeing You-Know-Who rise from the grave._ That much Harry had told them, but he gave no details. He also refused to speak about whatever it was he had discussed with the Headmaster.

And there was the fact that he was isolating himself from everyone. Oh, he would speak to her and Ron sometimes, but briefly and never made the first move.

Rumors ran wild around the school, Malfoy was more vicious than ever and Harry just ignored it all, no doubt infuriating the Slytherin even further. Only once did Hermione see him acknowledge the blonde – with a stare that carried a hint of the anger that she was sure had to be boiling inside of him. Hermione supposed Harry was simply choosing to be angry rather than afraid and while she could sympathize with that approach, it worried her that he just kept it all inside. She almost wished Harry would take it out on her and Ron to get it off his chest.

It seemed, however, that if it was to happen, neither she nor Ron would be there to witness.

_Perhaps it's his own way of… I don't know, protecting us. That would be just like Harry, to try and deal with all that on his own._

In the last few days she'd managed to convince herself that this was the case and decided to leave him be for now.

_He'll talk to us when he's ready, she decided. I won't push him._

~~oOo~~

Harry let himself be hugged by Hermione, gave Ron a faint smile and lied that they were okay, evaded Mrs. Weasley and went through the portal to the muggle part of King's Cross only to be stopped by the imposing figure of Alastor Moody.

The ex-Auror made no move to indicate hostile intentions, but Harry went for his wand nonetheless. He'd found out from Dumbledore that the person who'd been teaching him Defense the whole year turned out to be an impostor. A Death Eater.

It was yet another blow to Harry's trust for the Headmaster. How could he have not recognized that someone was impersonating a man he considered a close friend? Or if he had, which was more than probable, why hadn't he done something about it?

The impostor was caught trying to flee the school, still in disguise. That was when Dumbledore decided something was wrong and searched the Defense Professor's office, finding the real Alastor Moody locked inside his own multi-compartment trunk. The Death Eater must have been in a hurry to leave so quickly, leaving everything, including his prisoner, behind. Minister Fudge, in his infinite wisdom, had the man Kissed by a dementor.

Harry was starting to have serious doubts about the people who ran Wizarding Britain.

"Don't worry, boy," Moody grumbled. "It's the real deal this time. Though I commend your vigilance."

"Forgive me if I'm a little suspicious, sir," he retorted icily.

"Aye, can't blame you. Still, I'm here for something important. Why don't you show me this uncle of yours, eh?"

"Why?"

"I reckon he needs to be reminded that you're part of his family, and what that means."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Did Dumbledore tell you to do this?"

"Aye," the older wizard grunted in response. "Heard them Dursleys weren't treating you too well."

"I see," Harry said. "Too little, too late I'm afraid."

"What're you sayin' boy?"

"Thanks, but no thanks. I'll deal with my _family_," he snorted here, "myself. You can tell the Headmaster I'll contact him if need be."

Moody stared at him intensely with the normal eye while his magical one moved constantly in all directions.

"You sure, lad?"

Harry stared back. "Quite sure. I have to do this myself."

Moody kept staring.

"It's time for me to start changing some things," Harry said.

"Very well, if you're sure," Moody agreed, nodding once. "But someone will check up on you tomorrow, just in case."

"Unnecessary," Harry said. He caught Moody's gaze and added, "But appreciated."

"Then I wish you a good summer, lad. Constant vigilance," Moody said gruffly and disappeared through the portal.

Harry turned away from it and started pulling his trunk towards the exit.

"Hello, uncle," he said to Vernon.

"Just get in the car, boy," his uncle snapped and turned on his heel, walking back to a silver sedan.

"New car, is it?" Harry asked casually, once his things were in the trunk. He knew very little about cars, but he could see that it wasn't the one he rode in to London last year. Then he got into the front passenger seat. He'd never been in the front. Vernon obviously remembered that as well.

"What the- _get in the back_!" he hissed, spitting.

"I don't think I will," Harry answered coldly.

Vernon's eyes widened momentarily and his face became a deeper shade of red.

"How dare-"

"Shut up," Harry snapped. "Or I'll be forced to call up my godfather."

"Your… _godfather_?" Vernon blurted out, confused and angry.

"Yes, my godfather." Harry turned to look his uncle in the eye. "My godfather, Sirius Black. The wanted mass murderer. He's a wizard like me."

He looked straight ahead again and leaned into the seat comfortably. This was going to be a good summer.

_I'll make sure of it._


	2. CHAPTER ONE: The Board Is Set

**AN: **First of all, I'd like to thank **hiddenhibernian** for a thorough review and pointing out mistakes in the prologue (fixed now, of course). Awesome reviews are awesome.

Disclaimer is at the top of my profile page and that's one that applies to the entirety of this story, so I won't be mentioning that anymore.

First few chapters are already written and just need some editing, so they'll be posted soon. After that, I'll try to update at least once every few weeks, unless I'm possessed by a demon and begin churning out words by the thousands.

_Az-reth_ incantation is borrowed from **joe6991's** excellent "Wastelands of Time".

I forgot to mention in the previous AN that I use italics when I want to emphasize something, or it's the POV character thinking.

**CHAPTER ONE: The Board Is Set**

The train ride to London was an eye-opening experience for Harry. He spent the journey trying to come up with a way to deal with the Dursleys once and for all. And he did.

It made him both glad and furious.

He was pleased to know that the solution to his 'Dursley problem' turned out to be so obvious and simple. He was also angry with himself that it hadn't occurred to him earlier.

Harry was used to dealing with bullies of varying types. Vernon was one of those who used their size and strength to intimidate the victim and establish their superiority. Of course, if the victim wasn't cowed by that, the bully's effectiveness dramatically decreased - which explained why Vernon still held only a mid-level managing position in his firm and was constantly passed over for the next promotion.

Dudley took after his father and this faux charisma had helped him form his gang. He was the leader because no one dared challenge him - that would mean a fist fight and if there was one thing Big D did well, it was giving out punches.

Apparently, all it took was a little confidence.

_And if that doesn't work, I can always ask Moody to drop by. _

They pulled into the driveway.

"Take my trunk upstairs," Harry snapped at Vernon and promptly got out of the car, making sure to slam the door shut with as much force as possible. He'd decided to go all out. Nothing else would get his point across.

Vernon, understandably, didn't care for such behavior.

"_Boy_," he said through gritted teeth. "What do you think you're doing?"

Harry shot him a furious look. "Putting you in your place," he answered. "Plus, you could use some exercise."

"And where'd you get an idea that you can order me - or anybody - around? That freak school of yours, I'll bet-"

"_Vernon_," Harry said smoothly, his voice laden with malice. "You don't want to make a scene, do you?"

With that, Harry turned on his heel and went inside, where he was immediately assaulted by Petunia.

"What was _that_?" she screeched. "What will the neighbors think!"

"I think their opinions are the least of your concerns right now," Harry purred and drew back his hand.

~~oOo~~

Just as he'd hoped, shock at he sheer audacity of his actions was enough to make the Dursleys back off.

When Vernon saw Harry's handprint on Petunia's face and the culprit rummaging through _his_ fridge, he threw caution to the wind and charged Harry like an enraged bull.

It was a mistake.

Harry simply moved out of the way.

"You always said that I was ungrateful for taking me in," he said. "Well, this summer I'll make sure to show you the depth of my gratitude."

"HOW DARE YOU RAISE A HAND TO MY WIFE?" Vernon bellowed.

Narrowing of Harry's eyes was all the warning Vernon received.

The next moment one of Petunia's tawdry vases was hurtling toward him. Vernon swiped his hands madly and the vase was thrown aside, shattering on the floor. But that had been just a distraction.

Harry brought the kitchen chair down like a hammer, knocking Vernon to the floor. He was in the moment, and furious. Helpless anger that had been building up for years was pouring out like a flood.

"HOW DARE I? HOW DARE _YOU_!" Harry roared. He jumped back when Vernon's chubby fingers tried to grab his shirt and lashed out with a kick. And another. And another.

"You treated me like shit!" he hissed, as involuntary tears streaked down his face. "I did everything you said and all I got in return was that stupid cupboard!"

Vernon had stopped fighting back and just raised his arms to protect his face. Petunia was making unintelligible noises from the hallway.

In anger, Harry tired quickly, leaving Vernon right where he was, bruised and bleeding. He then turned back to his aunt, grabbed a fistful of hair and _dragged_ her into the kitchen. His fingers clenched around her throat.

"You treated me worse than a _dog_," he snarled. "And we all know that if Dudley had been orphaned, _my_ parents would have treated him like their own son." He had no way of knowing that, actually, but he didn't care. "But the joy ride is _over. _Cross me, and _I'll fucking kill you_."

~~oOo~~

Life in Little Whinging had one significant advantage over the magical world. Here, Harry was relatively anonymous. He didn't really know anybody apart from the Dursleys and he couldn't care less what lies they had told their precious neighbors. Here, he was away from the prying eyes of his peers, Hogwarts Professors and the press. He could vent his anger and frustration on the Dursleys with no interference.

He was guarded, of course. Moody did indeed send someone over the next day - a young woman, only a few years Harry's senior, named Nymphadora, though she preferred being called by her last name, Tonks and she was Sirius's cousin. Harry played the part of a traumatized teenager and she readily spilled her secrets.

The next time she was on guard duty, she revealed they weren't really supposed to make contact with him.

"But you know, Harry, hang the rules, right?" she said cheerfully. "I've been waiting to meet you. Sirius is your godfather, so that practically makes us family." She winked at him playfully. He offered a fake smile in return.

She then surprised him by passing on a letter from Srius.

"I'm to tell you that he could have sent it by owl," she explained, "but this way he can tell you some things others won't."

The letter proved informative - more so than the ones Hermione and Ron had sent him, polite and full of assurances of support. Harry now had an idea of what the Order of the Phoenix was and what they were doing. From what Sirius wrote, not much.

He returned home late - it was already dark. Privet Drive 4 was filled with the usual noise - the telly playing in the living room, its light spilling out into the hallway. Harry passed by, spotting Vernon and Petunia huddled together on the sofa. Vernon noticed him and quickly turned his gaze away. Harry smirked with grim satisfaction.

_Good_.

The elder Dursleys had been properly cowed by his... outburst. Vernon's bruises were still clearly visible. He'd had to take a week off from work - he wouldn't show up in the office like that.

Petunia shivered under his gaze. For the past few days, she looked constantly on the verge of tears.

Dudley, surprisingly, did not emulate his father and showed no signs of fear. Instead, he'd given Harry a wide berth since his cousin came back from Scotland.

Until tonight, apparently.

He was at the kitchen table, nibbling at a late snack and staring into the smaller television in the corner.

"Beat anyone up today, Potter?" he asked idly.

"Keep talking and you'll have the honor of being my first and only victim today."

"Really?" Dudley scoffed. "I'd like to see that."

"I know a spell that will cut you in half," Harry said. "Wanna see your guts on the floor, Dudders?"

"You can't use your stick," Dudley protested. "You'll be expelled from your school for freaks."

Harry turned to glare at him. "But you'd still be dead."

Dudley seemed to be considering the implications of this threat. "I don't like what you did to mum, you know."

"You've just noticed?" Harry snickered. "Took you long enough, birdbrain."

"Watch your mouth, Potter," Dudley snapped. "You talk too much."

"You started talking first."

"In your sleep, too," Dudley continued. "'Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort!' Who's he, your boyfriend?"

A window cracked, split in half. Harry glanced at it and turned back to Dudley.

"Shut up."

"Did you do that?" his cousin demanded, pointing at the window. "You've already wrecked your own room, now you start breaking stuff down here?"

"SHUT UP!" Harry snapped, slapping his hands down on the table.

"You must be having your period or something" Dudley mocked. "Come on, pull out that _wand_ of yours. Let's see some _magic_!"

"DUDLEY!" Vernon's voice reached them from the living room. "_Don't use that word_!"

"You're just gonna let him get away with everything?" Dudley yelled back. "The freak hit mum and you-"

He couldn't finish the sentence, because Harry broke a plate on his face. He knelt down on Dudley's chest, grabbed the collar of his shirt and slammed his head against the floor.

"I told you to shut your mouth," he hissed. "Don't make me repeat myself again."

~~oOo~~

Ron withdrew an Extendable Ear.

"Well, it's official," he declared. "Harry's gone nuts."

"Don't say that!" Hermione protested.

"Why, do you disagree?" the redhead asked. "He's beating the muggles into a pulp - I'm not saying it's a bad thing, they deserve it - but don't you think it's a bit worrying?"

Hermione hesitated. "He's been through so much... and they treated him- badly. Everyone has a breaking point, Ron," she said. "Harry must have found his."

"I overheard Tonks - that Auror - saying that he was having nightmares. Trashed in the bed, screamed..." Ron spoke in hushed tones as they retreated to the room Hermione shared with Ginny. "She wanted to do something, but they have orders from Dumbledore not to enter the house. And then it just stopped, for no reason. You have any ideas?"

"No," Hermione said. "I would need to know more than that. But it's not unusual for him to have nightmares. And if they stopped, all the better."

_It must have something to do with You-Know-Who_, she thought to herself.

"I don't get why he has to stay there," Ron grumbled. They weren't allowed to leave the house and Hermione suspected he must miss Harry just as badly as herself.

_Well... perhaps not as much. _

"Bloody muggles," Ron said. "Serves them right, even if Harry _is_ crazy."

At that moment, she couldn't agree more.

~~oOo~~

After an entire week filled with threats, glares and verbal abuse, culminating in Dudley receiving seven stitches after Harry's latest blow-up, the Dursley family finally understood the message Harry had been trying to convey.

_Do not cross me._

At first they rebelled against Harry's attempts to impose his tyrannical rule on them, but eventually accepted the fact that this new Harry wasn't just a phase that would pass with time. The presence of the Order guards - some of them, like Dedalus Diggle, weren't hard to spot - only served to intimidate the Dursleys further. They would rather obey Harry than let the neighborhood notice they had 'freaks' crawling all over their property.

Harry learned through letters that Hermione and Ron, along with most of his family, had been relocated from their homes to some secret location. Harry's friends weren't allowed to write him about much of anything that went on there since Professor Dumbledore didn't want to risk information leaks in case the owls were intercepted.

It was a poor excuse. How hard could it be to ask one of the guards to pass on a letter from time to time, just like Tonks was doing for Sirius? Harry theorized that Dumbledore was trying to keep him in the dark, as he was so fond of doing, as payback for wrestling the text of the prophecy from him in June. Or perhaps he was just reading too much into things. Having little to do in Little Whinging, Harry spent a lot of time thinking, mostly about what Sirius was writing him.

Then there were nightmares.

They weren't images of the night of Voldemort's resurrection. The knowledge that he was out there made Harry feel apprehensive, uneasy, nervous... But Voldemort wasn't here right now. He was a looming presence on the horizon - a threat, and never one to be underestimated, but not genuinely terrifying. The nightmares were something much more disturbing. Something all men fear - and Harry was no different.

The unknown.

There were eerie, echoing sounds, images, emotions - rage, uncertainty and hunger. And pain. Above all pain. His, someone's else's - it didn't matter. It was always present, chilling to the bone and burning as red-hot steel. Voices screamed, begging mercy of their tormentor, but there was never any rest.

He didn't know what to make of it, what it was supposed to mean, and it scared him. There was something familiar there, but for days, he couldn't figure it out, forced to swim in the ocean of meaninglessness... until order was born of the chaos.

Gradually, he found it easier to move, discovering that he could arrange images into scenes, attach sounds and smells... forge the elements into whole memories. Voldemort's memories.

The work was hard and slow, but at least it didn't frighten him anymore. Each night, he worked tirelessly in his sleep, learning more about the Dark Lord than, he suspected, Dumbledore ever would. Still, they were just insignificant details, memories of childhood, of his days at Hogwarts, forming a barrier between Harry and whatever lay beneath - which, Harry knew, had to be much more valuable. So he kept going.

Eventually, he found a door. Simple, plain. It lead into a long, narrow hallway, so long he could see neither end standing in the middle. Curious, he followed the corridor and found an identical door at the opposite end. It was an exact copy, so perfect, that he first thought he must have accidentally gone back. As soon as he opened it, however, he knew his insticts had been right.

Somehow he found his way into Voldemort's mind.

_The corridor... it has to be the link Dumbledore mentioned... the connection I share with Voldemort..._

From there, he moved at a snail's pace, careful not to attract the Dark Lord's attention. He didn't know the first thing about lurking about other people's heads, but he was sure announcing his presence would end badly.

Voldemort's mind was a treasure trove of knowledge. As long as he didn't wander in too deep, he could safely access anything within his reach. He saw it as a chance to even the odds. Voldemort, Dumbledore had told him, outclassed most mages in the world and he, a teenager, was expected to fight him one day! He would succeed, or die trying, Harry decided, and began to seek out the tiniest bits of knowledge pertaining to magic. He didn't dismiss anything, even the most mundane details. The more he learned, the better. He often wandered if Hermione would have praised his new found thirst for knowledge if she knew that it concerned magic of a decidedly Dark and destructive nature.

Unfortunately, venturing into Voldemort's mind every night, for hours at a time, gave him pounding headaches, which resulted in moodiness and constantly snapping at the Dursleys for no apparent reason. Surprisingly, it was Dudley who provided him with a way to spend the excess energy born of the irritation.

Dudley introduced him to the gym that Vernon had turned the basement into when his son started taking sport seriously. Ever since his cousin's fit of rage ended with Dudley having his temple stitched together, he was wiling to do anything to keep Harry from getting angry. Dudley spent most of the time outside anyway and would rather Harry took his frustration out on his equipment, not his face.

In Dudley's gym Harry discovered that while he was generally fit, his stamina left a lot to be desired, so he began accompanying Dudley during the daily exercises. Dudley, naturally, tried to protest against Harry's company, but the threat of exposing his smoking addiction to Vernon and Petunia quickly shut him up.

Harry started tagging along for Dudley's morning runs, which inevitably lead to a clash with his cousin's gang. Unfortunately for them, they were of Malfoy's kind - big mouths and bigger egos, but not much else.

"Hey, D!" Piers Polkiss was Dudley's 'second-in-command'. "What're you doin' with the freak?"

"Piers," Dudley said, "shut up, for your own good."

"Oi, guys! D's getting cozy with his cuz! Are you feelin' quite alright mate?"

"Fine, actually," Harry chimed in. "Thanks for asking."

"I wasn't talking to-"

Harry grabbed a discarded piece of pipe and lunged forward.

"Don't!" Dudley screamed at the rest as Harry pummeled Piers with his makeshift weapon. When the anger descended to a manageable level, he threw the now bloodied pipe away and fixed the others with a menacing glare.

"I can keep going. Any takers?"

Unsurprisingly, there were none.

~~oOo~~

Tonks fidgeted under Sirius's stare.

"I'm telling you," she said, "he's not okay. He's in bad shape."

"Didn't you just tell me that he spends his days beating the crap out of people?" Sirius asked, amused.

Tonks glared at him. "He's fine physically. Getting better, if anything. But he's not right in the head. Either he's becoming psychotic or it's a really violent case of coping with the trauma - only it's other people that experience the violence."

"So he's blowing off some steam," Sirius commented. "One could argue he's doing remarkably well, considering what the trauma was."

"_Sirius_." Tonks seemed to be losing her patience. "I really don't care if he's turning his relatives into burrito on a daily basis. I'm a Black too, you know. We were never big on morals."

Sirius grinned and tipped an invisible hat to her.

"What worries me is the sudden change in his behavior. You told me he was a nice kid."

"I think he still is," Sirius said. "His letters are nice. And very shrewd."

"Nice kids don't start wrecking their bedrooms and people around them all of a sudden!" Tonks insisted.

"No matter," Sirius replied. "He'll be here soon enough. I'll keep him interested - and _tired_. He needs to learn to fight."

Tonks threw up her arms in frustration and turned to leave the room.

"You forgot something," Sirius reminded her.

She grabbed the envelope from him and stormed out. Sirius looked out of the window with a sly smile on his lips.

_Go Harry._

~~oOo~~

August draw nearer and Harry began expecting an invitation to wherever this Order of the Phoenix that Sirius had written him about had its headquarters. The invitation - if you could call it that - indeed came, through Mad-Eye, who handed him a letter from Dumbledore the evening prior to the planned date of departure. That also confirmed Harry's suspicions that the Headmaster's excuse for banning Ron and Hermione from writing anything of substance in their letters was just that - an excuse, and a poor one at that.

On his last morning at the Dursleys' Harry woke in a considerably better mood than the day before. He would be leaving for London come evening and leaving Privet Drive was always something to look forward to. The headaches connected to exploring the depths of Voldemort's mind were getting rarer and less painful - or perhaps he'd adapted to enduring them. Finally, he would be closer to the magical world and Sirius, who was proving to be an invaluable ally, unlike Dumbledore's yes-men. Plotting via letters was too slow for his liking.

Oh, right. He would also see his best friends again. Honestly, he couldn't care less. Yes, Hermione loyally stuck with him through the entirety of the Tournament while Ron was busy being jealous, but both of them lost his sympathy by becoming the Headmaster's pliant puppets.

Recalling Sirius's letter detailing how he had essentially become a prisoner in his own house and predicting that he himself won't be allowed out either, as Dumbledore would undoubtedly argue against such security risks, Harry decided to take a long walk on his last summer afternoon in Little Whinging this year.

By chance, he run into Dudley on the outskirts of the town.

"How's your day been, Big D?" he asked idly. He didn't really think his cousin would have anything interesting to say.

"Oh... uh, hi. Okay, I guess."

"That's... nice." Harry suppressed a yawn. It was one of those 'lazy' afternoons.

Out of pure boredom, he made small talk and found out that Dudley would be competing in some amateur boxing tournament in London.

"Good for you, Dudders-"

He stopped in mid-sentence, feeling a sudden surge of cold. A familiar kind of cold. Eleven inches of holly were in his hand momentarily.

What were dementors doing in Little Whinging, of all places?

_Stupid question_, he chided himself mentally. _They're looking for you, genius. Why else would they be here?_

New question then - _why_ were dementors looking for him?

"Dudley, go home," he snapped. Truthfully, he wouldn't mind seeing his cousin turned into a human plant, but he'd already made other plans for him and his parents. Also, Dumbledore would get a little angry, Harry supposed, if he allowed it to happen.

Dudley looked ready to panic. "_What are you doing_?"

"Nothing yet," Harry mumbled.

He twisted in place to face two dementors hovering a hundred feet away. He recalled the moment of cracking one of Petunia's porcelain plates on her son's head. It was definitely a happy memory.

"_Expecto Patronum_," Harry intoned the spell.

And nothing happened.

_That memory doesn't qualify? Oh well. Nothing for it, then._

A month ago, he would have had to resort to running, or frantically trying to find another memory and hoping it was happy enough to call forth his Patronus. Now, however, he was armed with a fraction of Voldemort's knowledge. And according to a little tidbit of that knowledge, there was one thing that dementors had in common with inferi.

They weren't fond of fire.

Harry grinned in anticipation - he would worry about his Patronus Charm failing later. He had wanted to try out that spell since the moment he learned it through Voldemort's memory.

"_Az-reth_!"

A torrent of flame surged from his wand, forming into a four-legged beast, bearing some resemblance to a lion. The fiery construct charged at the dementors, spitting fire everywhere. Clearly, the hooded wraiths must not have expected such a turn of events, because they immediately whirled backwards to flee.

Fiendfyre, however, wasn't satisfied. The Cursed Flame never is.

The instant dementors flew away, the spell turned on its caster.

_Oh, great._

Harry slashed with his wand, trying to dispel the fire.

_Perhaps I should have tried the Patronus again._

"POTTER!" Mad-Eye's voice boomed from behind the flames, "DON'T LET UP!"

The Fiendfyre was so hot that Harry was instantly covered in sweat, despite the morning chill. He swept his wand wide again - the flames were forced back for a moment, but immediately renewed their assault.

Harry could hear Moody's voice from the other side of the inferno, urging him to keep throwing the fires away. Harry couldn't really do anything but that, so he jabbed and slashed with his wand, pushing the Fiendfyre back, but each time that distance was shorter, or the uncontrolled spell managed to get closer before he raised his wand again.

He was sure that his face would get burned off - by his own spell, no less - when the wall of flames suddenly dispersed into smaller ones before dissipating completely, leaving no trace but intense heat that lingered for a moment.

Facing raging Fiendfyre wasn't quite as terrifying as facing a living, breathing Voldemort, but it was a close second - even in it only lasted a minute.

_A very tense minute._

"What on Earth," Moody growled as he hobbled closer, "possessed you to do that? How do you even know this spell, eh?"

"I picked it up along the way," Harry said dismissively.

Moody's magical eye was spinning tirelessly, scanning their surroundings for any other threats.

"Picked it up, huh? That's not my thing anyway. Dumbledore can take it up with you if he wants to. Damn you, Potter! We're lucky there weren't any witnesses... well, apart from your- bloody hell!"

It seemed the dementors wouldn't be returning to Azkaban on empty stomachs.

Dudley was slumped against the wall of a nearby building, motionless, except for the slight movement of his chest.

"Has he been Kissed?" Harry asked.

"Aye," the ex-Auror responded. "Nothin' to be done now. He's just a husk. Might as well be dead."

"Ah..." Harry cleared his throat. "What a pity. Terrible."

"It's no time for joking, lad. The Kiss is worse than death. Nobody deserves it."

"I disagree," Harry said calmly. "I know some people who deserve it."

Their conversation was interrupted by an owl dropping an envelope into Harry's hands.

"It's from the Ministry," Harry said, recognizing the symbol stamped into the wax seal. "Why, _of course_."


	3. CHAPTER TWO: The Pieces Are Moving

**AN:** Be blunt - is this chapter cliché ridden? (probably not gonna change it drastically - or at all - but I'd still like to know)

**CHAPTER TWO: The Pieces Are Moving**

"Stay on your guard, Potter," Moody said gruffly. "You can read that later."

"I'll read it now," Harry snapped at the older man, tearing the envelope open.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_It has come to the attention of the Ministry of Magic that you used the Spell of Cursed Fire close to seven p.m. this afternoon in the presence of a muggle. Since this is your second offense, you are hereby expelled from the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

_Aurors will be arriving at your destination shortly to destroy your wand and detain you pending further investigation._

_With respect,_

_Mafalda Hopkirk_

"Wonderful," Harry said.

"What does it say?" Moody demanded.

"I've been expelled from Hogwarts. They're sending Aurors to snap my wand," Harry said. "I'd like to see them try."

"Don't worry, lad. Dumbledore will straighten this out."

"Perhaps, but how long will it take him?" Harry asked, tearing the letter to pieces. "Definitely longer than it'll take the Aurors to get here. Dumbledore's not welcome in the Ministry these days, isn't he?"

"How would you know?"

"I get the newspaper delivered."

He did have a _Daily_ _Prophet_ subscription and he was also getting valuable information from Sirius, in addition to a crash course on Wizarding Britain's politics. It was all rushed and not nearly detailed enough, but they could only get as much done by mail.

His thoughts were interrupted by three consecutive pops of apparition.

"Harry Potter." One of the Aurors immediately spotted him. "You are under arrest for violation of the Statute of Secrecy and the Decree for Reasonable Restrictions of Underage Sorcery."

Harry gave the three Aurors a challenging look.

"Sure," he said. "As soon as someone explains to me why I was attacked by dementors."

"Our orders are to snap your wand and take you in, Mr. Potter," the Auror in command argued.

"So you don't care that there are dementors on the loose, hundreds of miles away from Azkaban?" Moody asked suspiciously.

"Sir, with all due respect-"

"How about a deal?" Harry asked suddenly.

"There will be no _dealing_, Mr. Potter," the Auror snapped. "Now, relinquish your wand!"

Harry twirled the holly wand in his fingers. It wasn't the ideal tool for dealing with the Dark Lord - it would refuse to fight its brother the next time his and Voldemort's spells met. Still, it had served him well so far and he certainly didn't want it destroyed.

"I'll give you my wand and you can take me into custody-"

"Potter, what do you think you're doing?" Moody interrupted.

"I'll handle it," he assured the ex-Auror.

"You can take me in," Harry repeated. "All I'm asking is that you refrain from destroying my wand until it's explained why dementors, who are supposedly controlled by the Ministry, were here to take my soul."

"The dementors remain firmly under ministerial control, Mr. Potter."

"Then someone in the Ministry send two of them to _silence_ me," Harry reasoned. "Rather worrying, don't you think, that the government would send them to attack civilians."

"You're saying there were dementors here, Mr. Potter," the Auror said, keeping his wand aimed at Harry, "but do you have proof?"

Harry's eyes narrowed. "How about my soulless cousin?"

~~oOo~~

"He did _what_?" Sirius demanded. "What do you mean Harry _let_ himself be taken away by the Aurors?"

"Sirius, now is not the time to panic," Dumbledore said. "So calm down. Harry was taken into custody, but his wand is intact. I was just trying to persuade the Minister to drop the charges and rescind the arrest order when young Percy Weasley stormed in, informing us that Harry had just been escorted to a DMLE holding cell."

"But- arrested for underage magic?" Arthur Weasley asked. "The Statue allows for usage of magic by minors in self-defense and if dementors-"

"That was one of the things I pointed out to the Cornelius. My influence in the Ministry has been greatly lessened in recent weeks and I wasn't able to accomplish much. I was, however, allowed to talk to Harry, albeit briefly."

"What did he say?" Sirius demanded.

"The good news is that there is indisputable proof of the dementors' presence in Little Whinging, which will allow Harry to present a strong case. Unfortunately, the proof in question is, quite literally, Harry's cousin, Dudley. He was subjected to the Kiss."

The room was plunged into grim silence as the Order took in the news.

"How's Harry taking taking it?" Sirius asked. "I mean, he wasn't fond of his relatives, but they are still his family-"

"He expressed regret at Dudley's undeserved fate," Dumbledore said somberly.

"Okay, the important thing is, what should _we_ do now?" Tonks asked.

Dumbledore's eyes flickered with the tiniest twinkle.

"Well, on that account... Mr. Potter requested that he be allowed to deal with the matter himself."

"What?" Sirius looked alarmed. "I wrote him about how the Wizengamot works, but he's nowhere near ready-" he stopped in mid-sentence as all the eyes in the room focused on him.

"Is there something you wish to tell us, Sirius?" the Headmaster asked.

"I- well, I've been writing Harry about... some basic things. About how the government works and the like. I mean, for someone in his position it's only logical to know it, especially now that he may have to deal with the Ministry a lot more often once it becomes known that Voldemort is back." Many of the gathered openly flinched at Sirius' mention of the Dark Lord's name.

"From the way Potter talked to those Aurors, I'd say the lad has a good head on his shoulders," Moody said, instantly drawing the attention to himself. Mad-Eye just giving out praise like that? "For a kid, that is," he added.

"Hey, didn't they ask what you were doing there?" Tonks asked curiously.

"They did," Moody grumbled.

~~oOo~~

The Aurors quickly examined Dudley's body.

"Merlin," the leader whispered. "Blasted soul-suckers... Well, Mr. Potter, looks like you were telling the truth. Your cousin bears all the marks of a recent Kiss victim. On that note... I'm afraid his body won't last very long. I'm sorry for your loss."

"No need," Harry said dryly.

"We need more people on this," the commanding Auror decided. "Grayson, go back to the Ministry and get one more team here. And request an obliviation squad too - there might be other witnesses. Sir." He turned to Moody. "May I inquire as to your presence here?"

"Potter's father fought with me in the last war. Thought I'd drop by and share some stories."

"Really?" the Auror asked skeptically.

"Really," Moody repeated, leveling his heavy gaze at the younger man.

"...Fine. You may be called on as a witness in the investigation. Thank you for your cooperation, sir."

"Meaning 'piss off, you old fart'," Moody grumbled. "Think I'll stay here, just in case those damn wraiths come back."

The Auror blinked once, twice and shook his head in resignation. "Of course, we welcome your assistance, Mr. Moody. As for you, Mr. Potter, I have orders. And those orders say I have to snap your wand."

Harry's gaze hardened as he slipped into a defensive stance.

"Then I'm afraid I'll have to resist arrest."

~~oOo~~

"Oh, I wish I could have seen that," Sirius said, grinning.

"That... doesn't quite sound like Harry," Mrs. Weasley said quietly.

"Dropped by to share stories? Seriously?" Tonks asked incredulously. "And they _bought_ that?"

"More like they didn't have the balls not to buy it," Sirius laughed.

~~oOo~~

Not long after the steel door of his cell closed behind Dumbledore, Harry's musings were interrupted again - this time by a large, bald, dark-skinned man.

The Auror swished his wand, conjuring a small table in the middle of the room, followed by two chairs. He gestured for Harry to sit down on one of them.

"Mr. Potter," the Auror began, "my name is Kingsley Shacklebolt. I am a Senior Auror in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and will be conducting your interrogation."

"I have already been interrogated," Harry said. "My answers have not changed in the last thirty minutes."

"The interrogation that took place at the scene was unofficial. Yes, your answers have been included in the preliminary report which I have read prior to coming here. I'm just following procedure."

"Very well. Ask your questions, Auror."

"You are not in charge here, Mr. Potter," the man said in a polite but firm tone.

"Of course. You are. My apologies."

If Shacklebolt noticed his sarcasm, he paid it no mind.

"Mr. Potter." He cleared his throat. "Around seven p.m. this afternoon, you used magic. Specifically, you cast the Spell of Cursed Fire. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Are you aware that as a minor, you are forbidden from using magic outside Hogwarts until you turn seventeen?"

"I am."

"And you're aware that the action you've performed today was in direct violation of the Decree for Reasonable Restrictions of Underage Sorcery?"

"Yes."

"And are you aware that due to the presence of a muggle, you were also acting in violation of the International Statute of Secrecy?"

Harry's lip twitched. "Yes."

"Now, can you tell me why you chose to use magic outside of school, thus breaking the law, despite knowing of the illegality of your actions?"

"I was fending off dementors."

Kingsley's face tensed. "Yes, dementors. The preliminary report mentioned that." There was a pause. "It also specified that the muggle witness was unfortunately Kissed. If nothing else, it confirms your story, Mr. Potter."

Harry stayed silent.

"Mr. Potter, do you know what spell is known to be most effective against dementors?"

"The Patronus Charm."

"Are you capable of casting it?"

That question was one that Harry didn't have an automatic answer to. He could, of course, say that yes, he was - he'd done it before, with spectacular results, one might say. But today had been different. He suspected it might have been simply that he hadn't used the right memory and yet... he had felt nothing when he tried and failed to summon his patronus. No surge of magic like it should have happened, even if the spell failed.

_Eh, no reason to complicate things further._

"Yes."

"Why didn't you use it?"

"I did."

"The Trace didn't pick up a Patronus Charm."

"I wasn't aware the Trace was so accurate." In truth, he had no idea how the Trace worked or even what it was, exactly - but the Auror didn't know that.

"That is irrelevant. As I said, we detected no Patronus Charm cast in Little Whinging at any time today."

"I tried casting it. The spell failed. It happens sometimes."

"Why didn't you attempt to cast it again?"

_You're gonna have to try harder than that. _

"I was a little out of time, Auror," Harry said, sarcasm creeping back into his voice. "There were two soul-sucking flying zombies practically right in front of my face."

"So you used fire."

"Obviously," Harry said, rolling his eyes.

"How did you know?"

"Excuse me, but how is this relevant to the case?" Harry growled.

"Just answer the question, Mr. Potter," the Auror insisted.

Harry stared. Shacklebolt stared back.

_Can't exactly tell him I learned it from Voldemort. Think, Potter!_

"My Defense teacher in third year once gave a lecture about the common methods of dealing with dementors."

_Not an outright lie._

"There are a plethora of other fire-based spells. Why Fiendfyre?"

"Would you believe me if I told you that it's the only one I know?"

"That would depend on the truthfulness of the statement. Would it be true?"

"No," Harry admitted after a moment.

"Then why Fiendfyre?"

"It's powerful."

"It's also very difficult to control, beyond the ability of most wizards or witches. Certainly beyond the ability of a fifteen-year old."

_Oh, you did_ not _just go there._

"Is this a criminal interrogation or an assessment of my skills?" Harry asked icily. "Are you planning on recruiting me?"

"No, Mr. Potter, but-"

"Good. My aspirations run higher than a mere Auror anyways."

Shacklebolt took a deep, calming breath. "Are you aware that the Spell of Cursed Fire was classified as Dark by the Ministry?"

"I am now. Is it illegal?"

"It's Dark magic, Mr. Potter," the Auror reiterated.

"I heard you. But is it illegal?"

"All Dark magic is frowned upon and its usage by a minor is extremely troubling."

"You're evading the question, Auror Shacklebolt."

"You are not here to ask questions, Mr. Potter, but to answer them."

_Well... point for the Auror._

"Alright. Do you have any more questions?"

"Not at this time, Mr. Potter." Shacklebolt stood up and so did Harry. The Auror then dispelled the conjured furniture. "I am to inform you that in light of verifiable evidence of the dementors' presence, it is acknowledged that your actions fall under the Self Defense Clause of the Decree for Reasonable Restrictions of Underage Sorcery and as such your casting of Fiendfyre wasn't in violation of that particular law."

"Glad to hear it."

"However, you still acted against the Statute of Secrecy."

"Debatable."

"You can take that up with the Wizengamot during your trial, Mr. Potter. I am also to tell you that the orders for your immediate expulsion from Hogwarts and the snapping of your wand have both been temporarily revoked and their execution or annulment will be decided in due course of your trial."

"Do I already have a court date, perhaps?"

"You do. Tomorrow morning."

~~oOo~~

The Dark Lord's eyes settled heavily on the Malfoy patriarch. Voldemort scrutinized his servant, looking for signs of falseness, but there were none. Malfoy was telling him the truth.

"Harry Potter was apprehended by the Ministry... On what charges?"

"Underage magic, my lord," Lucius said quickly. "And I was told there was a muggle witness. Fudge is building his case upon the Statute of Secrecy-"

"But why did Potter feel he had to use magic in the first place, Lucius?"

"Dementors," the blone-haired man explained. "Apparently there is evidence to support his claim, but Fudge will try to blow over it in court. At this time he just wants to destroy Potter's credibility."

"This is a lost cause," Voldemort stated. "Potter has Dumbledore on his side and while the old fool's influence has been lessened, it has not been eliminated."

"I've tried telling Fudge as much, my lord, but he won't listen. He hasn't been willing to listen to my advice as of late... He wants both Potter and Dumbledore discredited and he believes this case is his chance to accomplish that."

"Fudge is going to lose," the Dark Lord said. "It shall be your responsibility to mitigate any damage, Lucius."

"I understand, my lord."

"Right now, I need your puppet Minister in a strong position, until we are ready to implement our own candidate. However, there is a positive side to this... for it ensures that Dumbledore will be distracted - perhaps too distracted to pay close attention to Potter himself, at least for a short time," the Dark Lord mused. "And that is an opportunity I shall not let go to waste... What comes next, Lucius?"

"Fudge wants to convene the Wizengamot to try Potter."

The Dark Lord's red eyes narrowed in anger.

"With the way Fudge is acting, he is going to discredit himself before anyone else," he growled. "We may need to accelerate our plans... Mulciber, what of Azkaban?"

"The have not upgraded security measures in years, my lord," the other Death Eater reported. "There is only a base garrison of twenty Aurors present at all times, mostly rookies... Common opinion in the Department is that a few months on guard duty in Azkaban helps toughen up the fresh graduates of Academy. The Ministry relies on Dementors to do the actual guarding. Aurors only do rounds around the lower levels. We can attack at any time. Given that Dementors will almost certainly join us, there will be little resistance."

"You have done well, Mulciber. You may leave."

The tall Death Eater bowed and left the room, leaving Lucius alone with the Dark Lord.

"If Potter will indeed be tried before the Wizengamot, I want you present at that trial, Lucius - and I shall expect a full report. There is little chance of Fudge winning, but if that should miraculously happen, I will need to know as soon as possible."

"Of course, my lord."

"You are dismissed, Lucius."

Malfoy bowed, even lower than Mulciber, and quickly exited, leaving Voldemort to his thoughts.

_Harry Potter... You have shown more competence than one could expect from a child... But we shall see how you fare when faced with a_ real _challenge._

~~oOo~~

The Head Auror flipped through the thin file rapidly.

"You want my opinion on this, Amelia?" he asked his superior.

"Yes, Rufus," she said. "What do you think?"

"There's nothing in here," Scrimgeour declared, throwing the folder back on the desk. "We've already admitted that the Decree for Restrictions doesn't apply and any case build solely upon the Statute will be shoddy at best. The worst we've done to adult witches and wizards in breach of it was giving them a fine. Bringing this before the Wizengamot will make Fudge a laughing stock. But you didn't need me, Amelia. You knew all that before I even got here."

"That's true," Amelia nodded. "I was just hoping that a trained Auror could offer some unusual insight. Something I might have missed."

"We both know criminal law forwards and backwards. There is no insight to be had. The Minister is trying to build a case when there _isn't_ one. Personally, I think this is just his paranoia acting up. And we have the interrogation..."

"You don't need to tell me." Amelia sighed with frustration. "Shacklebolt was specifically requested to handle the interrogation by the Minister. Then that cow Umbridge gave him a list of questions to ask. Pressuring the boy about his knowledge of charms and fire-based spells and then trying to catch him of guard by accusing him of practicing Dark magic... Fiendfyre is dangerous, even Dark, yes, but not restricted. And barely legal is still legal."

"In short," Scrimgeour continued, "they can't touch Potter. Truth is, Fudge would stand a better chance of getting a conviction if he agreed to have this handled by the Department, but he's dragging the boy in front of the Wizengamot - for underage magic! Anyone associated with this case is in for a smear on their record."

"Yes, thank you, Rufus," Amelia said, gritting her teeth. "That's exactly what I needed to hear."

Scrimgeour raised his eyebrows. "Are you..."

"I'm prosecuting."

"Then you have my sympathies. But look on the bright side - with the _Prophet_ pandering to Fudge, it won't get out of the Ministry."

"Wonderful," Amelia snorted. "Makes me feel a little less miserable."

~~oOo~~

After a night spend in the cell, Harry was hardly in the mood to face a panel of judges, wearing the same clothes as yesterday. He suspected that if Fudge was behind all this, then it all played right into his hands - after all, appearances were important in the world of politics and this 'case' was a political maneuver, nothing more, nothing less. An opportunity for the Minister to try and discredit him.

Harry had no intention of playing nice. He'd had enough of the _Prophet_ mocking him this summer and the trial was the perfect setting for him to make his first move. He couldn't afford to waste any more time. If the information he got from Sirius was accurate, Voldemort wasn't sitting idly by. There were plans in motion mere hours after his resurrection.

The picture Harry stitched together of the Order's activities during the first war from the little snippets and short stories that Sirius had shared was not to his liking - both the Order and the Ministry were focused on reacting to Voldemort's moves and trying to minimize the damage. He had every intention of being proactive and that meant he couldn't run with Dumbledore's crowd. Well, it didn't mean they couldn't still work toward a mutual goal, but the policy of simply doing his best to fix whatever Voldemort broke wasn't one that Harry was willing adhere to.

His watch indicated seven forty-five when a pair of Aurors came in and cuffed his hands behind his back before escorting him out of the cell. The large black man from the day before wasn't one of them.

He was led through a series of corridors into a tiny room - even smaller than the cell - with only one chair in it. Not an ordinary chair, however. This one was made entirely of matte black metal; heavy chains hung from its sides. He was released from the cuffs and ordered to sit down. As soon as he did, the chains came alive, binding him tightly to the chair. He felt a nauseating sensation when the bonds snapped into place, as if his magic was being dulled out somehow.

"The magic inhibitors are working," he heard one of the Aurors mutter.

"Everything is ready. Let's go."

As soon as the door shut behind them, there was a deep rumble - and the segment of the floor upon which the chair stood started moving upwards into... a cage?

~~oOo~~

Lucius watched, his face blank, as Potter, chained up more securely than a hardened criminal, was lifted into the cage in the center of the chamber. He watched and wanted to walk up to Fudge and shake this ridiculous paranoia out of him.

Potter might have been slandered regularly in the _Prophet_, but that made him more of a running joke than a public enemy. Fudge himself wasn't sure how to have his main propaganda tool portray the boy - as the victim of Dumbledore's manipulation or an accomplice to the old fool's schemes. Because of that uncertainty, many tended to ignore the Ministry's ramblings more and more as time went - and that was _undesirable_.

Fudge was continuing the trend initiated by Skeeter's articles from spring, but with that gossip hag gone - where _was_ she anyway when actually needed? - he was doing a poor job of it. Right now, he wanted everyone to see Potter as a criminal, which the boy obviously wasn't. Lucius couldn't count how many times he'd bribed Hopkirk after Draco had had an 'incident' outside the safety of Malfoy Manor. According to the law - which desperately needed updating to more modern standards - his son should have gone to Azkaban a long time ago for breaking the Statute of Secrecy repeatedly. Yes, Draco used to be an undisciplined child.

And now with Potter in chains and in the cage, both of which were designed to prevent escape and block the magic of the person inside, he would garner public sympathy rather than contempt. This truly was a lost cause and he, Lucius, would have to deal with the consequences of Fudge's stupidity because of course that idiot would run to 'his dear friend Lucius' for advice once his popularity would start to plummet over this farce. Just _perfect_.

Lucius barely kept himself from groaning in frustration. The Dark Lord wasn't going to like this.

~~oOo~~

Harry needed every ounce of his willpower to keep focused on what was going on around him and from hyperventilating. He'd become so adjusted to the flow of magic through his body in the past few years that when it was suddenly blocked, it made breathing difficult and felt overall _exceedingly_ unpleasant.

"The disciplinary hearing of thirty-first July of Harry James Potter of Privet Drive 4, Little Whinging, Surrey, brought in on charges of illegal usage of Dark magic and violating of the International Statute of Secrecy of 1692." Harry recognized the voice of Cornelius Fudge and looked up to where it was coming from.

The Minister sat surrounded by warlocks of the Wizengamot, wearing a scowling grimace. Below him sat a familiar figure, focused on the Dicta-Quill dancing across parchment.

_What in hell is Percy Weasley doing here?_

"...prosecutor, Madam Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Amelia Bones. The accused," here Fudge glared at Harry, "is present. Now, let's make this quick. I have no time to waste on criminals. Mr. Potter!"

Harry blinked and focused on breathing steadily. "Yes?"

"Do you deny that yesterday, at approximately seven o'clock in the afternoon, you used the Fiendfyre in the presence of a muggle, thus breaking a number of laws, including international law?"

"No, Minister."

"And you performed this Dark magic knowingly and in full awareness of the illegality of your actions?"

"Correct."

Fudge looked around with a righteous expression on his face. "Witches and wizards of the Wizengamot, it is obvious that the case is clear. I call for a vote-"

"Not so fast, Minister," Harry interrupted.

"Excuse me, Potter?" Fudge snapped. "Did you say something?"

"Where's my legal counsel? Aren't I entitled to a lawyer?"

There was a murmur of consent among the warlocks. Harry thought fast what his next words should be, before Fudge had a chance to recover.

"Well, in the absence of a lawyer, I'll be my own defender. I would like to present my version of the events-"

"Your testimony was already taken-"

"And were the members of this court made aware of its contents?" Harry demanded loudly. Fudge was glaring daggers at him.

"I don't have all day to spend on this case, Mr. Potter!"

"Neither do I, so let's move it along, shall we?" Harry retorted. "Yesterday, at around seven p.m., I indeed used Fiendfyre - to drive off dementors. And before someone asks," he added, seeing a few warlocks rising from their seats, "yes I can perform the Patronus Charm. But it doesn't always work! So I used the next best thing - fire."

"Blatantly boasting about practicing Dark magic-"

"I think when faced with dementors, the very real possibility of having your soul sucked out takes precedence before _not_ using powerful magic in self-defense, Minister," Harry snapped venomously.

"Perhaps," Fudge said, "but there is still the issue of the muggle witness, Potter!"

"The muggle witness? You must mean my cousin who was Kissed, right?"

Harry could almost feel the atmosphere of hostility switch from him to Fudge.

"I wasn't informed-" Fudge sputtered.

"Oh come on!" Harry exclaimed. "You're the _Minister_ and you _weren't_ _informed_? I find that hard to believe."

"When you say it was your cousin, Mr. Potter," a new voice rose above the commotion. "Do you mean that this person knew of your being a wizard prior to the... prior to yesterday?"

"It would be kind of hard to hide it, considering we lived under one roof," Harry sneered.

"Minister," Amelia Bones said slowly, "this is a significant piece of information. Family members knowledgeable of our world are excluded from the muggle witness status of the Statute."

"Does it matter, Amelia?" Fudge argued. "The boy still used Dark magic, we can't just let that slide-"

"Why wasn't I informed of this, Minister?" The woman's voice could cut steel. "As the prosecutor, I should have been told about _all_ the details of this case."

"I have one more question," Harry interjected. Amelia Bones' gaze snapped to him immediately.

"More revelations, Mr. Potter?"

"That depends. Why were there two dementors in Little Whinging yesterday? Aren't they confined to Azkaban, unless ordered otherwise by the Ministry?"

"This is not about what dementors do or don't, Potter-" Fudge began, but was immediately cut off by Harry.

"I would like to know what grave offense I have committed that someone felt sending dementors after me was justified."

The courtroom fell into silence.

"It's an interesting question, isn't it? I mean-"

"_Hem_ _hem_."

All heads turned to a plump witch with a toad-like face.

"I must have misunderstood you, Mr. Potter."

"Oh? Please clarify."

"The dementors are controlled by the Ministry of Magic. Are you suggesting that someone in the Ministry dispatched two of them to apprehend you?"

"I wouldn't say they were trying to 'apprehend' me," Harry countered.

"Because I think if someone did send two dementors to Little Whinging, then there would be an appropriate notification in the files."

"There isn't one?" Harry asked mockingly. "Well, the other possibility is that Dementors aren't under the Ministry's control anymore."

There were several audible gasps. "Preposterous!" someone shouted. "Azkaban is secure!"

"As much as Mr. Potter's words worry me," Amelia Bones interrupted, "the Minister is right. This isn't about Dementors, but about justice for Mr. Potter."

"Well, Amelia?" Fudge glared at the woman. "_Will_ there be justice?"

"Certainly. Evidence points to your guilt, young man," she said, looking straight at Harry.

_What?_ he thought. _She can't be serious!_

"You used a highly dangerous spell, putting yours and others' safety in jeopardy. For that, you are penalized with a fine of five hundred galleons."

"Now, the vote-"

"No need, Minister," Amelia said coolly. "Mr. Potter's actions clearly fall under the Self Defense clause of the Decree for Reasonable Restrictions of Underage Sorcery. And since the muggle witness was a family member, there was no violation of the Statute of Secrecy."

"There might have been other witnesses."

"According to the report I received yesterday, there were none. Under the circumstances, prosecution finds Mr. Potter guilty of recklessly casting a dangerous spell for which a fine was already issued. Five hundred galleons payable to one of the Ministry's Gringotts accounts within a week. Prosecution drops the other charges against Mr. Potter."

Harry held back a smile. From what little he'd found out from Sirius about the Wizengamot, if prosecution dropped charges, then there was no case and no vote. In other words, he won.

Fudge must have understood there was no winning this case. He struck the gavel onto his desk with considerably more force than was necessary. "Case closed. The court may disassemble. Aurors... please release Mr. Potter and escort him out."

The chair then sunk back below the court chamber and the moment it hit the floor in the tiny space below, the chains fell down, restoring the blissful feeling of magic coursing through Harry's body.

He took a deep breath. "Never again. Not this shit."

"Mr. Potter," one of Auror guards peeked in. "We will-"

"Escort me out, yes, excellent," Harry said. "I would have my wand back, Auror."

"Erm, I-"

"_Now_."

"I don't have it on me," the Auror said quickly. "It will be returned to you when we pass the security checkpoint."

Harry pushed past the man, knocking him to the side. Looking around, he spotted what looked like a lift to his right.

"Is that the way out?" he snapped at the other Auror irritably.

"Yes. Follow me, Mr. Potter."

Within seconds, they were in the lift moving upward and within minutes, back in the lavishly decorated atrium of the Ministry of Magic. Harry was once again awed by the rich interior. From this perspective at least, the Ministry looked like a damn neat place to work in.

At the security checkpoint, Harry snatched his wand from the nervous clerk's hands.

"We have orders to escort you to your-"

"Just take me where you found me yesterday, thanks," he barked. "You were one of those who arrested me, right?"

The young Auror nodded. "I can take it from here, sir," he told his superior. "I'll take Mr. Potter back to Little Whinging."

"Very well. Just make it quick."

Not long after, Harry was back at the deserted playground. The Auror looked uncomfortable.

"You know, if you have a question, you can just ask," Harry said. "I don't guarantee an answer though."

"Not a question... I'm just very sorry for your loss. It must be awful-"

"Loss? What loss? I won, didn't I?" Harry snorted. "No, wait, I didn't just _win_. I _flattened_ the dear Minister, but don't tell anyone I said that."

"Uh, I meant your cousin."

Harry blinked rapidly in surprise._ I completely forgot._ "Oh yes, my... cousin. Well, I'm sure he's, ah, in a _better_ _place_ now..."

_Wonder how Vernon and Petunia took the news?_

"Well, I'll be going, then," the Auror said with a nod at Harry.

"Wait!" Harry stopped him. "What's your name?"

He clearly did not expect that. "Ekhem. Dell Grayson, Junior Auror."

_I'll remember that, Junior Auror Grayson._ "Was just curious. Have a nice day."

"You too, Mr. Potter. And again, I'm very sorry."

Grayson's robes swirled around him and he disapparated with a crack. Harry turned on his heel as well, facing the general direction of Privet Drive 4.

_And so it begins._

~~oOo~~

"I will not tolerate insubordination from anyone in the Ministry, Amelia!" Fudge roared. "Especially in DMLE! We need to present a united front if we're to make it through the crisis!"

"What crisis, Minister?" Bones asked skeptically. "Do you mean your completely baseless claim that Dumbledore desires your job?"

"How dare you!" Fudge sputtered in rage, his bowler flying next to her head and flopping against the wall. "I have done what I must to protect this country from Dumbledore's machinations-"

"Everything you've done since taking up the office was to preserve your position, Cornelius!" Amelia exclaimed. "You _disgust_ me."

"Is this how it's going to be?" the Minister's face reddened. "In that case, I shall expect your resignation on my desk tomorrow morning. You can clear out your desk, Amelia. Rufus, you will take over the Department," Fudge snapped at the man in the corner.

"And what about the Auror Office?" Scrimgeour grumbled. "Besides, I think this is not a decision to be made hastily-"

"Shacklebolt," Fudge interrupted. "He's competent, isn't he? And loyal to the Ministry. He's earned this promotion in any case."

"I shall take that as my cue to leave, Cornelius," Amelia said coolly. "Good day to you, _Minister_. Rufus." She nodded at her colleague. "Good luck in your new job."

When the door clicked shut behind her, the Minister flew into a spitting rage again.

"Who does she think she is!" he erupted. "I am the Minister for Magic, the leader of this country and she dares-"

"You might have misinterpreted her words, but it's too late now, Cornelius," Rufus commented. "And in all honesty, I'm inclined to agree with her on this one."

"Wha-"

"_Listen_, Cornelius!" Scrimgeour urged. "She might have gone against you, but it doesn't make her _wrong_! You should have given her all the details. And whose idea was it to bring Potter in for trial on the charges of underage magic in front of the full Wizengamot? I know you're smarter than this!"

"Dolores suggested it-"

"I should known," the newly nominated Director growled. "That woman is a menace, Cornelius, I always said that. You should be kicking _her_ out flat on her face, not Amelia!"

"She build the case against Potter!" the Minister argued. "It was the perfect opportunity to silence him, but no, Amelia had to be _righteous_-"

"You had no case! It was just a random occurrence! It was no golden opportunity. And now you have handed yourself to Skeeter on a silver platter."

"I'll block anything she cooks up," Fudge said immediately. "The _Prophet_-"

"The _Prophet_ is still part of the free media. You won't be able to keep it under your thumb indefinitely. Don't fool yourself - this will get out and your reputation will take a hit."

"What was I supposed to do then, Rufus?" Fudge demanded.

Scrimgeour didn't immediately answer. Personally, he disagreed with Fudge on most things, but he wasn't going to antagonize the man, not now, when he's just been given command of the DMLE...

"I don't know, Cornelius. You are the Minister, aren't you?"

There was a characteristic 'ping' sound. The Minister turned to his desk and pressed a golden button sunk into the surface.

"Yes?"

"Minister, Chief Unspeakable Croaker is here with the report you requested."

"Send him in."

The door opened, revealing a man in his sixties, with neatly groomed gray hair, clad in the nondescript black robes of an Unspeakable.

"Minister. Head Auror," the man greeted.

"Algernon." Scrimgeour responded with a nod. "Fancy seeing you here. You're paler than a vampire. Do you go outside at all?"

"I do, on holidays."

"Algernon, you don't celebrate holidays."

"And that's how often I get out," Croaker said dismissively. "The pulse was nothing unusual, Minister... well, the fact that it came from the boy may seem unusual, but-"

"What's this about?" Scrimgeour asked.

"When Potter's trial ended, there was a surge of magic," Fudge explained quickly. "It looked suspicious, so I had it looked into."

"Like I said, nothing sinister. Just the regular reaction from a person being released from the magic-inhibiting chains."

Fudge's eyes went wide like sickles. "But- I have been present dozens of times when prisoners were released and I have never felt something like this before!"

"Potter didn't spend much time in that chair, but more than enough for his magic to become stifled. So, when the chains released him, his magic was as well."

"Impossible! That would mean-"

"That this boy is a powerful one indeed. Hardly an anomaly, however. Exceptionally magically powerful people come along from time to time. That's where wizards like Dumbledore come from," Croaker explained, unfazed by the revelation.

"And this doesn't concern you?" Fudge asked.

"Minister, with all due respect, I work with more powerful and sinister magics daily. Will that be all? I'd prefer to get back to work, if you don't mind..."

"Yes, Algernon, thank you."

Once the door closed shut behind the Unspeakable, Fudge gave Scrimgeour a frightful look. "Rufus," he began, "I really don't need another Dumbledore right now."

Scrimgeour didn't have a straight answer for the man he was quite close to despising.

_Perhaps you don't... but this country could sure use someone to give it a shake._

~~oOo~~

Harry opened the front door...

...to find Privet Drive 4 eerily silent. The silence, however, did not last for long.

"Mr. Potter," a familiar voice resounded in the hallway and the figure of Albus Dumbledore appeared from the kitchen.

"Hello, Headmaster," Harry replied, stifling a yawn. He didn't get much sleep last night. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't find it in himself to fall asleep in the uncomfortable cell in the middle of what was, for the moment, enemy territory. "How has your summer been so far?"

"Busy," Dumbledore answered. "I trust you didn't waste time yourself."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Harry said. "Not with a psychotic Dark Lord on the loose."

"And I'm afraid both our schedules are bound to get even busier."

"So that means I'm leaving? At last." He rolled his eyes.

"Mr. Potter," Dumbledore spoke softly, "I regret to inform you that your cousin's body has given out earlier today. He passed away."

"If I'm to be brutally honest, sir, it's no great loss. He bullied me."

"I understand there is no lost love between you and your family-"

"I would hardly call them my family, Headmaster," Harry interjected. "They sure never acted like one."

"-but I'm afraid if you want to pay your respects, it shall have to wait until the funeral. You will be exceedingly busy for the next few days."

"Where are they anyway?"

"They are currently at a funeral home," Dumbledore explained. "Arranging the burial ceremony."

"If at all possible, Headmaster, I'd rather not stay here any longer than it's absolutely necessary, so if you'll excuse me, I'll go pack-"

"I've taken care of it, Mr. Potter," the old mage said, flicking his wand and Harry's trunk slid out of the kitchen behind him. "Now, we really must go. Of course I have informed your friends to give you time to mourn your cousin."

"Professor," Harry said, his expression hardened. "If you're half as competent as everyone claims you are, then you know _exactly_ how my life with the Dursleys looked like before this summer. So please, stop talking about those wastes of air in my presence."

"Mr. Potter... Harry," the Headmaster said quietly. "For what it's worth... I'm very sorry for what you had to endure. And I'm also very proud of you that you did."

"I'm guessing it took courage to look me in the eye and admit your mistake," Harry replied sharply. "But I'm afraid that's too little, too late. Let's just go."

"As you wish." Dumbledore swished his wand again and the trunk lifted off the floor to where Dumbledore could place a hand on it. "Read this and remember."

Harry snatched the piece of parchment the Headmaster sent floating his way. "The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is located at Grimmauld Place Twelve," he recited. "Is that place really as grim as Sirius claims?"

Dumbledore's eyes glinted with understanding. "Ah, yes. Sirius mentioned you've been corresponding."

"I wanted to be kept in the loop," Harry shrugged. "Shall we?"

"If you would take my arm, Mr. Potter," the Headmaster said.

Harry did and the world dissolved into a myriad of colors.


	4. CHAPTER THREE: Actions Have Consequences

**AN:** Thanks to all who follow the story and special thanks to the reviewers! If you have any in-depth questions or would like to discuss some points of the story, feel free to send me a PM. I'd rather not write monstrous ANs.

I included a reference to "Harry Potter and Methods of Rationality". Because it's awesome and I like it.

Without further ado...

**CHAPTER THREE: Actions Have Consequences**

Harry's shoes hit grass.

"Does apparition always feel like this?" he asked irritably.

"Only the first few dozen times," Dumbledore said with a small chuckle.

"Bloody brilliant," Harry muttered under his breath. "Where are we?"

"In the backyard. It's within the range of the Fidelius Charm and makes for an excellent apparition point." The Headmaster pointed to a door. "This is the back entrance. The kitchen should still be empty, at least for a few more minutes, so we shall have a moment of undisturbed privacy." His blue eyes targeted Harry's. "I would like to talk, if that's alright with you, Mr. Potter."

Harry weighed his options. He wasn't really in a position to refuse and who knew - he might learn something as well.

"I don't see why not."

They entered the long, narrow kitchen through the back door. Dumbledore swished and flicked his wand and two steaming mugs of chocolate landed in front of them. Harry took a sip from his.

"Thank you, sir." He drummed his fingers on the table. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Firstly, I want you to know that I was truly impressed by how you handled yourself in court today."

Harry raised a curious eyebrow. "I didn't see you there."

"I was sitting in the higher rows," Dumbledore explained. "Your attention was focused elsewhere. And before you ask, they may have replaced me as a Chief Warlock, but I still have a place in the Wizengamot and that is not something even Minister Fudge can easily take away. I came straight to Little Whinging afterwards."

"Why not meet me in the Ministry?"

"I wished to avoid causing a scene," the Headmaster replied.

"Makes sense," Harry agreed. "But you didn't just want to congratulate me on winning a trial that I had a very slim chance of losing."

The twinkle in the blue eyes faltered slightly.

"That's true," Dumbledore said. "You have become more perceptive recently."

"A lot of things have changed recently," Harry said with a shrug.

"And that's what I wanted to talk to you about." There was a pause. "I can't help but notice that you haven't been replying to your friends' letters."

Harry stiffened for a moment. "Which friends do you have in mind?"

"Mister Weasley and Miss Granger. And also Miss Weasley, I believe."

_What? Ginny too?_

"I'd rather not talk about it, sir. This is between me and them."

"I do not wish to meddle in your relationships with friends, Mr. Potter. I would merely caution you not to throw away what few friendships you have," the Headmaster said thoughtfully.

"I'll take your advice into consideration, Headmaster," Harry said dismissively. "But I still don't think that's the reason behind this conversation. To put it bluntly, sir, let's stop beating around the bush."

"Very well." Dumbledore looked at him over his mug. "I cannot help but wonder at your knowledge of rather advanced and dangerous magic."

_And there it is._

"I'm not going to make up some half-baked lie, Headmaster," Harry declared, setting his mug of chocolate on the table a bit too forcefully. "You would likely see through it right away, but I'm not about to spill every last secret either. And I doubt you expected me to defeat Voldemort with fourth-year spells."

"I appreciate your honesty, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said. "And I understand your reasoning. After all, everyone knows that _I_ don't share everything I know."

"Glad we're on the same page."

"I'm only asking you to be careful. I don't doubt your ability. Just please be aware that with your young age come limitations, no matter how much your track record seems to be to the contrary. When I was your age, I too started discovering powerful magic and grow independent. I wouldn't have become what I am today without it…"

"One doesn't simply learn to start a fire without burning one's fingers," Harry put in.

"…but if I can, I would spare you the unnecessary mistakes," Dumbledore finished. "Those who don't learn about history, are doomed to repeat it. I would be glad to give you a few history lessons. Or something else, perhaps."

_Is he offering to train me?_

"You would teach me?" Harry asked, surprised.

"If you want, yes. You don't need to decide right now." Dumbledore righted the glasses on his nose. "Think about it and let me know. In the meantime… be careful."

Harry took a moment to find the right answer.

"I get it that becoming a powerful wizard has a steep learning curve, sir," he said, "and I appreciate your concern. However... can you reach your full potential without making some mistakes along the way?"

"Many powerful witches and wizards spent years studying the concept of time-travel in trying to answer that very question."

"And did any of them succeed?" Harry asked skeptically.

"We may never know," Dumbledore said with a smile. "After all, we can't state with absolute certainty that our present reality isn't someone else's second attempt at life."

"Interesting. And also more than a little freaky."

"It's the same with perfect crimes, Mister Potter," Dumbledore said matter-of-factly. "If a crime is perfect, then it was probably meant to never be found out about. That said, it is quite possible that perfect crimes are committed all the time. We simply have no way of knowing."

Harry thought about it for a moment. "Well, Headmaster… Seeing as I have very little chance of conducting successful time travel spanning years anytime soon, I I'll take my chances against Voldemort as they are right now."

"I think you underestimate yourself," Dumbledore said with a serious undertone. "I believe you're quite capable of improving the odds."

~~oOo~~

Dumbledore left after finishing his chocolate, but not before wishing Harry a happy birthday.

"I see you forgot," he said, smiling gently. "Understandable, with all that's happened. Your friends certainly didn't however. I believe there may be a party in plans for the evening."

He left then, promising to drop by for the aforementioned party. Harry himself wasn't particularly looking forward to it - in all honesty, he'd much rather take the time to have a good, long conversation with Sirius about all the things they covered only in barest detail in the letters.

As soon as the door closed behind Dumbledore, the one at the other end opened wide and a stream of people poured in. There was a moment before anyone noticed Harry sitting at the table with a cup of chocolate and a frown on his face.

"Harry!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed in surprise.

"Harry?" someone else asked, clearly stumped by his sudden appearance.

But it was Hermione's reaction that was the most surprising.

"Harry!" she shrieked, before breaking into a short sprint, her momentum almost toppling over his chair when she threw her arms around him. Harry had enough sense to put the mug back on the table and then Hermione was holding onto him as if both their lives depended on it.

_What the hell?_

"I am also very excited to be here," he mumbled from inside the embrace.

"Oh!" Hermione backed off. "Sorry, I'm just- we were all so worried about you... and then dementors-"

"I handled it," Harry interrupted her. "Water under the bridge. Forget about it."

Only then did Hermione realize that everyone was watching her outburst of enthusiasm with shocked expressions. They had come to know her as a rather controlled person.

Ginny spared her friend further scrutiny by following Hermione's example and soon everyone settled in for breakfast. Harry moved to the edge of the table where he could talk quietly to Sirius with minimal interruption. He was slightly annoyed by Hermione's close proximity and the fact that she devoted her absolute attention to him, thus disallowing him and Sirius to touch on any really important subjects. He'd rather keep those things secret, at least for now. Hermione would undoubtedly want to help and when she realized they were planning to employ methods that were any less than noble, she'd likely report everything to Dumbledore. Her undying faith in authority figures always got on Harry's nerves a little.

And he felt especially irritated when she chastised him for taking matters into his own hands.

"You should have waited for Professor Dumbledore," she insisted. "There was no need to spend a night in a _cell_. And that way, you might have gotten more time to prepare your case. You know I would've helped you-"

"Hermione," Harry growled, "you seem to be forgetting one important fact."

She raised an eyebrow.

"_I_ _won_."

"That doesn't make your actions any less reckless. Honestly Harry-"

"Honestly Harry is getting fed up with your lectures," Harry snapped. "In case you didn't notice, Sirius and I are trying to have a conversation."

Hermione blushed at the remark. "Oh... Sorry. I'll just- give you some space then."

"Much appreciated."

She turned her attention to Lupin.

"That was a little harsh," Sirius observed.

"No other way would have worked," Harry replied. "Trust me, I know her well enough."

"Well, you can't blame a girl for liking you," Sirius continued, winking at him.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Whatever that was supposed to mean, I missed it."

Sirius grinned. "She likes you."

"She considers me her friend. I don't think she'd spend the last four years at Hogwarts in my company if she didn't like me."

"Oh no. I meant she _likes_ you."

Harry snorted. "What-"

"And she's not the only one," Sirius finished, pointing discreetly at someone across the table. Harry looked in that direction and his eyes landed on Ginny, who, upon being caught watching him, blushed and looked away.

"You mean... seriously?"

"Trust me," Sirius said nonchalantly. "I'm good at this relationship stuff."

"I find that hard to believe," Harry retorted.

"Well, I have eyes," Sirius insisted, "and I'd watched your parents behave out of character for the entire seventh year. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about."

Harry paused to think.

"So what would you advise?"

"Pick one and have a great time. If it doesn't work, you always have the other to, ah... _fall_ _back_ _on_."

"I didn't have you pegged for a shameless womanizer," Harry whispered.

"Well, James was a serial monogamist, Remus was always shy, Peter," he grimaced at the mention of the traitor, "was a walking disaster when it came to the fairer sex... _someone_ had to do it."

"And I bet it was such a _burden_," Harry said with a chuckle.

"Hey." Sirius raised his hands in defense. "I only advertise the truth."

Harry looked on skeptically.

"When necessary," Sirius added.

When the inevitable questions came, Harry used the excuse given to him - if inadvertently - by Dumbledore.

"The Headmaster trusts me enough not to interrogate me," he announced to everyone, "and I'm not in the mood for answering questions anyway."

As breakfast came to an end, Sirius inclined his head and spoke quietly, "I think your friends expect a more concrete answer than that."

"If they can't trust me, then they're not really my friends, are they?" Harry snapped in response.

"I'm just saying," Sirius whispered, "that perhaps you should deal with them now so _we_ can talk later."

Harry blinked in realization. "Maybe you're right."

With that, he stood up from the table and gave both Hermione and Ron a significant look. They quickly excused themselves as well, drawing a few badly concealed amused glances from the members of the Order. Harry was sure he could guess what they were thinking.

_Ah, those kids, they think they're so inconspicuous. Let them have their fun, as long as they leave the important matters to us adults._

Well, he couldn't care less about their misconceptions. Voldemort was the real problem here.

Ron led them to a room on the second floor he was supposed to be sharing with Harry. Once the door was closed, he sat down on his bed, waiting for either of his friends to say something. Hermione gave Harry another breath-depriving hug. Harry saw in the corner of his vision Ron's tensed form.

_Is he jealous?_

Harry held back a groan. Goddamn teenage hormones. Was he the only person in the country below the age of twenty who actually _cared_ about the Dark Lord gallivanting through the country?

_Please, Ron, you can have her. As long as you keep her from poking her nose where I don't want it._

"Harry, I didn't want to say it in front of everyone..." Hermione began.

_I'm not sure I want to hear whatever it is even now._

"...I'm so sorry!" she said. "I know our letters were useless and I don't blame you for stopping answering them, it's just that Dumbledore made us promise we wouldn't write about anything important-"

"He said it wasn't safe," Ron put in.

"-so we just stuck to whatever he allowed us to write."

Harry almost felt disappointed. He was expecting some more earth-shattering news. He couldn't blame them for not thinking outside the box that the good Headmaster had put their brains in, so he decided not to mention his covert correspondence with Sirius. With Dumbledore aware of it, it was already one too many.

Oh yes… he would have to remind Sirius _not_ to mention such things to Dumbledore.

"Whatever," he said with a shrug. "I'm here now, so it doesn't matter anymore."

"You- you're not angry with us?" Hermione asked, surprised.

"Yeah... we kinda prepared ourselves for a chewing out and a lot of shouting. We know how you hate not knowing stuff-"

"I think you're confusing me with Miss Granger here, Ron," Harry said smoothly. Hermione blushed a deep crimson and swatted him on the arm.

"Shush, you," she said, trying to keep embarrassment out of her voice.

"Yeah... but like you said, we're together again, so... what's the plan?" Ron asked eagerly.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "'What's the plan?' I beg your pardon?"

"Oh you know-"

"No, I don't know, Ronald," Harry interrupted. He turned back to Hermione. "What is he talking about?"

"We thought... with how you handled the trial by yourself, you wanted to take a more... active role than Professor Dumbledore would allow you to. So, we're here to help."

Harry shook his head. "No no no. You've got this all wrong. Yes, there are plans in the making, but, well... you're not included."

"What?" Ron looked at him with the expression of utter betrayal. "You're barking-"

"Ron," Harry said icily. "This was all well and good while it lasted. But Voldemort is back now and the stakes are much, _much_ higher. No offense to you both, but I'll need people with more experience and ability to help me with a homicidal Dark Lord."

"Harry... you don't have to do everything by yourself. I mean, I know you prefer to solve your own problems, but You-Know-Who isn't just a danger to you."

"Hermione," Harry interrupted her harshly. "Use your vaunted logic. You would only be in the way."

"Hey!" Ron protested. "That's not fair, mate! Hermione's been a lot of help in all the crazy adventures. We wouldn't have gotten half as far without her!"

"You're right about one thing," Harry said. "Yes, we've had some adventures. But the time for those is over. Now, we're at _war_."

"Harry," Hermione said, "let's just all take a deep breath and stop for a moment. Nobody wants to argue-"

"Speak for yourself, Hermione!" Ron snapped. "I'll bloody well argue when my best mate is being a git!"

"Something you would know about," Harry retorted.

"That was low, Harry," Hermione chided. "Ron's only trying to help. We both are."

_Ah, screw it._

"Hermione," he said, turning to her. "let me tell you something. I was able to handle the trial by myself because I've been corresponding with Sirius since the school ended. Thanks to his information, I probably know more about the Order and its activities than you do. And all that thanks to the fact that one of my bodyguards passed on letters between Sirius and I, thus eliminating whatever security risk bullshit Dumbledore had used to discourage you from writing about anything important."

"Harry, I didn't think-"

"_Precisely_," Harry spat venomously. "You didn't think. And by not thinking you proved that deep down, you are still a little girl who just happened to stumble into some dangerous situations in the past. Both you and Ron would be useless to whatever plans I'll make and more likely than not you wouldn't have the stomach to help with their execution. You have to understand, Hermione, that people will die in this conflict. This isn't about combing the library for answers anymore. Kid gloves are off and I can't risk you running to Dumbledore whenever I step out of whatever lines he draws."

"Harry, I would never-"

"Spare me vows made in heat of the moment. Everyone in this house knows that you revere Albus Dumbledore as little less than a saint. But Dumbledore won't approve of everything I'll do to fight Voldemort and so I can't risk this getting out. Ergo, you two will stay out of my way. If the Order takes you in, then please, go ahead. From what I've heard, they adhere to Dumbledore's policy of redemption and second chances. I do not. I will not. You don't win wars by dragging the enemy over to your side. You win by _exterminating_ the other side."

With that, Harry left, slamming the door behind him. It was time to talk to Sirius.

~~oOo~~

He went back downstairs, trying to make as little noise as possible. Sirius had warned him about his mother's portrait and he wasn't in the mood for encounters with foul-mouthed paintings.

The house seemed empty and quiet - the Orders members had left for work and assignments and the rest spread out throughout various rooms in the house. In the kitchen, he met Mrs. Weasley cleaning up after breakfast.

"Harry, dear," she said with a warm smile. "Are you still hungry? You left early-"

"No thanks," he interrupted her. "I'm looking for Sirius."

"I think he's in the library. Just down the hall, last door to your left."

He followed the directions and indeed, found Sirius in a spacious room, with almost every inch of walls covered by bookshelves. In the middle was a comfortable looking sofa and two matching armchairs sitting in front of the only section of the wall not occupied by books but a large, marble fireplace. Fire was crackling in it, casting small shadows all over the room.

"Harry," Sirius stood up from the armchair he was sitting in. "Come in. We have a lot to discuss."

He closed the door behind Harry and tapped it with his wand. Instantly, Harry felt the magic shift in the air.

"What was that?"

Sirius smiled smugly. "This room has been used for plotting and scheming by many generations of Blacks. The walls are soaked with enchantments meant to guarantee protection and privacy. They can only be activated from the inside by someone with Black blood and only the person who enabled the magic in the first place can dispel it afterward."

"That was many words to say that we can now talk without anyone disturbing us," Harry commented.

"Well, what can I say…" Sirius fell back into the armchair. "…I used to hate this place when I was a kid, but I'd be lying if I said it's not a neat little fortress. You want some tea? Kreacher!"

There was a crack and a house elf appeared out of thin air. Harry hadn't seen many, but he was sure Kreacher had to be one of the ugliest elves in the world. He was obviously very old – sagging skin and the filthy piece of cloth he wore were testament to that – and probably demented, if one judged by the way he muttered insults, clearly directed at Sirius.

"-the mudblood-lover shouldn't call himself Master-"

"Shut up, Kreacher," Sirius snapped. "Bring us some tea."

The elf disappeared and came back half a minute later, carrying a large, silver tray with a pot of tea and bowl of biscuits. Harry snatched one as Sirius poured them tea.

"I can't help but notice that your house elf is probably overdue for his retirement."

"Who, Kreacher?" Sirius looked up. "Ah, he's a disgusting little backstabber, but I keep him around because he's loyal to the Black family and for all his flaws, he's good at what he does. Besides it's not like I can get another house elf. You need to be _not_ a wanted criminal for that."

"Have I told you about Dobby?" Harry asked idly. "He's… overenthusiastic, sometimes, but he likes me."

Sirius waved it off. "We can talk about finding a replacement for Kreacher once I'm free. Which, I believe is one of the things we should discuss."

"Yes," Harry said, setting down his teacup. "You'll be much more useful as a free man and I think there is a way to get you a fair trial without Wormtail in custody."

"What, you're gonna threaten the Wizengamot?" Sirius snorted. "Harry, I love you to bits, but-" he stopped abruptly, seeing his godson's stony face. "You want to threaten the Wizengamot into hearing me out?" He goggled at Harry.

"Yes, actually," Harry said. "After what I've seen today, I'd say they are an easy lot to threaten or manipulate. Isn't that what Lucius Malfoy has been doing for years?"

"Yes, but… Harry, Malfoy's a seasoned politician. He has his fingers in many pockets. You would need a lot of clout to even speak before the Wizengamot on my behalf."

"And that's what I had in mind," Harry said. "We need to _get_ some clout."

Sirius frowned. "I'm not following."

"Oh come on, Sirius, out of us two I'm not the one who had tutors from the age of four. I'm surprised you never thought of it yourself."

"I can't exactly go to the Ministry and try to chat up some important people, Harry. There's a Kiss-on-sight warrant for me."

"But that's the thing," Harry insisted. "Who says _you_ have to go to the Ministry?"

Sirius' eyes widened. "Ah… you _are_ pretty damn famous…"

"You could say that," Harry replied, sipping his tea.

"But you've always hated your fame. And what you're suggesting would rather mean using, embracing it even."

"As long as it helps us take down Voldemort, I'll live."

Sirius patted the armrest. "What did you have in mind, exactly?"

"I was thinking of getting an emancipation first," Harry said slowly, waiting for Sirius' reaction.

"Well," he said, "you're the last Potter alive. It's your right to assume the title. I can't exactly stop you."

"Great," Harry grinned.

"But it'll take some time. Usually it gets done pretty quickly if there's no contest – the Wizengamot doesn't like empty seats or proxies and Dumbledore has been casting the Potter vote for years."

"What time frame are we talking about?"

"Under normal circumstances? A week, maybe two. You have to make an appointment to meet with a special panel that includes the Chief Warlock and several law experts. Then they verify the validity of your claim, check if there's anyone that could possibly demand the title instead and then you just have to sign some paperwork."

"But of course normal circumstances are a luxury that isn't available right now, even if I could afford it," Harry growled.

"The Ministry is divided, but the facts are that Fudge is against you and the new Chief Warlock doesn't know you. The Minister will probably stall, try to drag the process out as much as possible."

"How long?"

"Well…" Sirius fumbled with a biscuit. "I remember one particular case, because it concerned the Blacks. My great-great-great grandfather and his brother fought for the title of Lord Black for several years."

Harry groaned. "We don't have _several_ _years_, Sirius! The time to act is now!"

"And then there's Draco Malfoy."

Harry's head snapped around to face Sirius so fast that he heard something in his neck crack. "What does bloody Malfoy have to do with any of this?"

"He could potentially challenge your claim. His is very, very weak, but he has one. And in the current political climate that claim looks much more solid."

"How is this possible?" Harry demanded. "You've made me aware that we are very distantly related, but didn't you say that was the case with all old families?"

"It's not just that, Harry" Sirius shook his head. "Here comes in the infuriatingly vague aspect of my legal situation. You see, I was accused of betraying your parents and murdering Peter and those muggles, but without a trial, none of this was ever legally stamped. That's why I'm still your godfather and your legal guardian, however bizarre that is. But because I'm acting in loco parentis-"

"Then whoever inherits your title if you die without an heir, gets control of everything you technically control as my godfather," Harry finished for him, having realized what Sirius was trying to say. "And as long as can't I emancipate myself, we don't have enough clout to get you cleared, but because you're wanted by law, you can't contradict anything Malfoy says."

"That about sums it up, yeah," Sirius said. "Are you getting a headache?"

Harry glared at the fireplace. "I think so."

"Yes, that's politics for you."

Harry took a deep, calming breath. "There must be _something_ we can do."

Sirius stared into the flames as well. Harry caught his face in the corner of his vision, an unreadable mask. "You have an idea, don't you." It wasn't a question.

Sirius devoured another biscuit in one bite. "Something of an idea."

"Seeing as it's the only idea right now, you might as well tell me."

Sirius sank even deeper into his armchair. "You remember Barty Crouch?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "The Death Eater? He's dead. Not terribly useful, if you ask me."

"Not the son," Sirius said. "Crouch Senior."

Harry recalled an article from the last school semester. "He was found on Hogwarts grounds, catatonic. He had been kept under Imperius by his son for months… and he sent you to Azkaban without a trial."

"I've been keeping an ear to the ground," Sirius said. "Crouch has gotten better. Recovered and all that and he's back on the job."

Harry sat up straight. "Has he said anything about Voldemort? I mean, then on the school grounds, he wanted to talk to Dumbledore. He sounded like-"

"Dumbledore did talk to him," Sirius put in, "but Crouch wasn't interested in Voldemort anymore by then. Refused to say a word about his suspicions, whatever they were."

Harry fell back limply. "Goddamn Fudge. He probably blackmailed everyone in the Ministry into silence or outright backing his little hate campaign."

"Probably," Sirius agreed. "But that's not the point."

"What is the point?"

"Crouch refused to talk to Dumbledore… But _you_, Harry…"

"You think he'd talk to me?"

"You've proved today that you can handle the Wizengamot just fine. You would still need to convince him that together, you would have a shot at proving to the public that Voldemort is back."

"That would be asking him to take a lot on faith. If you're saying he didn't want to team up with _Dumbledore_…"

"There's something else you could offer him in exchange for support," Sirius said quietly, still staring into the fire.

"Now I'm not following you."

"There's one thing that Barty Crouch values above all else. He cares about it so much that he sent his own son to Azkaban for it without a second thought."

"Let me guess. Power?" Harry snorted.

"Close." Sirius turned from the flames to look at Harry. "His reputation."

"I reckon it took a blow after it turned out his son was involved in a plot to get me killed."

"Yeah. And still Crouch is trying to pick up the pieces. That man is not one to give up. It doesn't matter how many times you put him down – as long as he has strength left, he'll get back up."

Harry shared a long look with Sirius. "That does sound like the guy we'd like on our side, right?"

"I thought so." Sirius nodded. "And nothing would boost his reputation like standing beside the Boy Who Lived when Voldemort reveals himself."

"So the problem lies in convincing him to find his balls and stand with us until Voldemort comes out to play."

"Pretty much."

They fell into silence for a long moment. Suddenly, Harry's eyes lit up with a glow of excitement.

"Uh-oh," Sirius said. "You have an idea. Damn, we're really brainstorming here, aren't we?"

"What if," Harry began, "we could _lure_ _Voldemort_ _out_?"

Sirius' grin was suddenly replaced with an apprehensive expression. "Ideas are welcome, but do we _really_ want to taunt an insanely powerful Dark Lord?"

"If you have a better alternative, please share," Harry commented crisply.

Sirius thought for a moment. "Nope. No alternatives. And, what the hell – you only live once. What are you thinking?"

The gleam was back in Harry's eyes. "You said Dumbledore had a contact in the Department of Mysteries?"

"I did and he does. Come on, Harry, don't make me guess."

Harry grinned at him. "Remember this day, Sirius. We're making history right now."

~~oOo~~

Having decided that there was no point in making further plans until Harry was emancipated and Sirius was free, they spent the rest of the morning polishing the details of Harry's plan to goad Voldemort into acting.

"We need to time everything just right," Sirius emphasized. "We can't make Crouch wait too long but Voldemort can't react to early – Crouch will need at least a few days to let the Ministry notice he took a stand."

They both excused themselves from dinner with everyone else and instead took their meal in the library. Afterward, Sirius launched into a long lecture about the Wizengamot and the general structure of the Ministry, reminding Harry of what he had written in his letters and adding a lot more detail as he went. When Harry stifled a yawn, Sirius blinked and looked at his watch.

"Oh dear," he mumbled. "We've been here for hours. I think that'll be enough scheming for one day."

"Thank Merlin," Harry said.

"Besides, it's almost time for your birthday party!" is godfather exclaimed, grinning.

"Party," Harry repeated. "Yes. Dumbledore mentioned it."

"Aren't you excited?"

"Don't get mad, but – no, not really. I've never had a birthday party. What are you supposed to do? Look happy while everyone sings you birthday songs?"

"In a pinch," Sirius confirmed. "There's also the cake, presents of course and if there are women around, which there are, you might receive a birthday kiss," he finished, waggling his eyebrows. "It'll be fun, you'll see."

"I certainly hope so."

~~oOo~~

To Sirius' dismay, Harry couldn't find it in himself to 'loosen up' and spent the first part of the evening on the couch in the living room, trying to look captivated by his birthday presents.

"That just won't do," Sirius decided. "Kreacher!"

"Master called?" the elf asked a moment later.

"Get me a bottle of Ogden's."

Remus, who stood next to Sirius went wide-eyed. "You're not thinking what I think you're thinking, are you?"

Sirius just grinned at him.

"Oh, who am I kidding," Remus groaned. "_Of_ _course_ you're thinking it! No, Sirius, I _forbid_ it."

"Spoilsport," Sirius said. "Look at him, Moony!" he insisted, gesturing in Harry's direction. "He's not having fun. On his birthday! That's unacceptable, period."

"Maybe if you'd let him decide what kind of party he wanted for his birthday-"

"Pff," Sirius interrupted. "Let's not squabble over insignificant details. There is a birthday boy there brooding in a corner. I won't-"

"Master's drink," Kreacher screeched, holding up a bottle of amber liquid.

"Great," Sirius said, snatching the Firewhiskey. "Now get out."

He opened two bottles of Butterbeer and added a gracious amount of Firewhiskey to one before marching towards Harry.

"Drink," he commanded, holding out the drugged bottle for his godson. Harry took it without enthusiasm.

"I appreciate your efforts, Sirius," he said, "but I don't think you can actually get drunk on Butterbeer."

"Let's test that theory, shall we?" Sirius clinked their bottles against each other. "To freedom!"

Harry stared at the bottle for a moment. "To revenge," he said quietly.

Sirius squinted at him. "I suppose that too."

Harry took a swig from the bottle and almost dropped it as he began choking.

"God, Sirius," he managed to say in between coughs. "That's _not_ Butterbeer."

"Not all of it, no," Sirius confessed. "Want another one?"

Harry gave it a moment of thought. "Sure," he said. "Why not. I won a Wizengamot trial today. Might as well celebrate."

~~oOo~~

Two bottles later, Harry was lightheaded enough to not feel embarrassed when Hermione pulled him onto the dancefloor. Soon, they were whirling among the others. Sirius, who revealed himself to be a surprisingly skilled dancer, glided across the room with Tonks. Harry had to constantly watch himself to avoid stepping on Hermione's toes, which, in his drunken state, was no mean feat.

Ginny and Tonks also insisted on a dance with him and he didn't feel up to protesting, so he just went along with it. Ron challenged him to a game of pin-the-tail, which Harry spectacularly lost when he pinned a donkey's tail to Sirius' back, who yelped in pain before storming off to the bathroom. Fred and George, seeing Harry stripped of his inhibitions, fed him several of their new products, which led to Harry parading through the ground floor as several different animals and sporting rainbow-colored skin.

The evening ended less than ideally, however, when Harry's stomach protested against any more alcohol, be it Firewhiskey or Butterbeer, and he commandeered the bathroom for almost an hour. When he emerged from it, the lightheadedness was gone and he could think clearly again but felt as if he'd been wrung out like a wet cloth.

"I'm going to kill Sirius," he mumbled.

"I hope it doesn't come to that," a familiar voice spoke from behind him. "Sirius makes for excellent company at parties and he's a very talented young man."

Harry spun around to come face to face with Dumbledore.

"Good evening Headmaster."

The elder mage plucked a pocket watch from his robes. "I would seem it rather closer to 'good morning' already," he said with a smile.

"Good morning then," Harry corrected himself.

"I apologize for my late arrival, but, alas, these are troubled times and duty takes precedence before partying."

"I will gladly take duty before partying," Harry said. "No more alcohol – ever."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in the dimly lit hallway. "I did bring a present, however." He brought a small, rectangular package and handed it to Harry.

"Thank you," Harry said, staring at it. "You didn't have to…"

"It was no problem at all, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said. "I had a spare. And I think it'll come in handy."

"What is it?"

"I wouldn't dare to spoil the surprise. But I suggest," he added, catching Harry's wrist gently, "that you wait to open it until you're feeling better. The box is charmed but the object it holds is quite heavy."

"Okay," Harry said. Suddenly, his eyes gleamed with a light of their own. "Do you think you could give something to Snape for me?"

"Professor Snape, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore reminded him.

"Yes, yes, Professor Snape," Harry slurred. "Could you pass on a letter?" he asked.

"Certainly. What letter?"

"Ah," Harry stumbled back and sat on a stair. "It's up in my bedroom. I'll get it… just give me a moment…"

"That's quite alright, Mr. Potter. _Accio_ _letter_!" the Headmaster intoned and a few second later an envelope came flying into his hands. "Is that the one?"

"Yes. Could you… you know…"

"I'll pass it on to Severus. As for you, I would suggest a shower and a good night's sleep."

"Wait," Harry looked up. "I wanted to talk to you. I have- an idea."

"Ah, yes." Dumbledore nodded. "An idea concerning a certain prophecy. I've already talked to Sirius."

"You did?" Harry asked in surprise. "I-"

"You were in the bathroom at the time, I believe."

"What-" He stopped and rubbed his temples. "What do you think?"

The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes dimmed a little. "While goading Voldemort into doing anything he doesn't want to is risky… very dangerous… I think your idea has merit. It might just be the thing we need to tip the scales in our favor." He sighed. "If only the Minister could be convinced to see reason, it would be an immense advantage."

"The Minister," Harry growled, "is a festering pile of dragon sh-"

"I appreciate your honesty, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore interrupted him. "And while I'm sure many would agree with that statement, Cornelius Fudge _is_ still the Minister and deserves a certain modicum of respect by virtue of his station."

"Whatever." Harry threw up his hands.

"I'll be sure to drop by within a week. We can discuss it in more detail then. Good night Mr. Potter. And I hope you had a very happy birthday."

Harry watched Dumbledore until he disappeared behind a corner.

"I'm going to kill Sirius," he mumbled.

~~oOo~~

"Wake up."

He stirred and muttered, "Five minutes."

"Oh, we have time, but I don't have the patience," the voice spoke again. It sounded… _familiar_.

"I _said... _wake up, Potter."

He felt a sting of pain and he yelped in surprise. His eyes flew open and the instantly, he was on his feet.

_What on earth?_

"Ah, finally you're awake."

Harry spun around in place. Well, at least he thought he did. He couldn't really tell.

Everything above him, around him and below him was white. There was no ground, no walls and no ceiling. No landscape in the distance, and no horizon. Only him, suspended in the unending, blinding whiteness and the disembodied, familiar voice.

"Look behind you." He heard the voice as if its owner had just whispered the words into his ear. He slowly turned back.

"_You_!"

"Yes, me."

Voldemort stood there, clad in elaborate black robes, his crimson eyes alight with malicious glee.

"Me. And you. Alone. At last," he paused and spread his arms wide in a welcoming gesture, "we can talk."

"You're not going to attack me?" Harry asked, slipping into a dueling stance, even thought he had no wand.

Voldemort laughed. "_Of_ _course_ I'm going to attack you, Harry. But." He raised a finger. "Not right now."

"Where are we? What is this place?" Harry demanded.

Voldemort's eyes bore into his. "I'm disappointed, Potter. It looks different, but it should _feel_ the same."

"Is this some kind of game?"

The Dark Lord laughed again, his cold, high pitch filling the hollow space and making the hair on Harry's neck stand straight. "Everything is a game! _Life_ is a game – the kind of game where you don't know the rules or the goal, so you must _make_ _your_ _own_."

They stared at each other in silence.

"Oh well." Voldemort sighed. "I suppose I shouldn't have expected too much from you."

Suddenly the emptiness around them was no more and they found themselves in a long, narrow corridor with walls of cold stone. Harry recoiled in realization as he recognized it.

"The connection."

Voldemort clapped his hands and the corridor dissipated, replaced again by the white.

"Correct. We are in the mental link that connects our minds."

"Why does it look different?" Harry asked, while his instincts screamed at him to run.

"When you use it," Voldemort said, "it looks like the corridor. Something the subconscious part of your mind created to make it easier for you to navigate. But when I'm in control, it looks like this." He swept his hand in a wide arc. "Quite disorienting, isn't it? It makes it harder for you to try and find an escape route."

"What do you want?" Harry snapped.

"_That_," the Dark Lord said, grinning in a predatory manner, "is not a question to which I can give a simple answer. But among the things I want is your destruction."

"Destruction... That doesn't necessarily mean death. You don't want me dead anymore?"

To Harry's surprise, Voldemort said, "No."

Harry blinked several times. "I'm confused."

"When we last met, something went wrong."

"Obviously," Harry interrupted, "you were supposed to drown in that cauldron."

"There is a part of the prophecy I don't know," Voldemort continued, seemingly paying no attention to Harry. "I suspect Dumbledore told you – but to try and extract the knowledge from your mind would be a waste of energy. There are other ways. More time-consuming, but safer."

_Right. Not for long, Tom._

"So, until I am certain of what the prophecy says, I'll refrain from killing you. Dumbledore believes there are things worse than death."

"What is your plan then?" Harry demanded. "You'll tear my mind to shreds? Kidnap and torture me?"

Voldemort looked at him appalled. "Give me some credit, Potter. Simple torture has its place, but I am not a savage."

"Care to give a hint or two?"

"I intend to punish you. You have invaded my mind without permission."

Harry stayed silent.

"Oh, don't act coy, Potter. Fiendfyre? Somehow, I don't see Dumbledore teaching you how to use it. And spells aren't all that you have extracted from my mind."

"Well," Harry said. "I suppose time for playing innocent is over."

"I don't know what else you've seen – I'm afraid what's done is done."

"And it only took you a month to notice," Harry sneered. "Congratulations."

Voldemort glared at him. "I assure you, Potter, you won't be feeling quite so smug in the morning."

"Oh yes? What are you going to do? Give me a headache?"

"No," Voldemort said flatly. "I have something else in mind."

The way he said it made Harry lose all his bravado.

"It never occurred to you that if you can get inside my mind, Potter, then perhaps I could do the same?"

Harry froze.

"I suggest you fight me with all your might," Voldemort said acidly. "I will not be gentle."

~~oOo~~

Harry awoke with a start, breathing heavily. He raised a hand to sweep the cold sweat from his forehead. He stopped abruptly, his hand still in front of his face. It was wet as well, but not from sweat. He'd seen blood enough times to recognize it even in the dark.

_I _really_ hope that's not mine._

He focused on his wand. _Accio_. A moment later he could feel it in his grasp.

"_Lumos_."

He illuminated the room he was in, shooing away the darkness. This wasn't the bedroom he shared with Ron. He wasn't in his bed.

He waved his wand at the fireplace and it lit up with bright fire, casting a warm glow all over the living room. Now, Harry could see there was more blood on the carpet.

His gaze slowly trailed the blood across the parquet and up the sofa, until it reached a message. At least it looked like a message.

WATCH, HARRY POTTER

Above the words, pinned to the wall by magic, was Ginny, still in her nightclothes, her wrists and throat sliced open, her face an expressionless mask. And burned into her forearm, black as coal, was the Dark Mark.

Harry stared at her for a long moment before the haze on his mind ebbed away and he realized he was just _standing_ _there_, and she was either dying or dead already…

"SIRIUS!" he yelled. "GET DOWN HERE!"


	5. CHAPTER FOUR: Dissent

**AN:** Included a small reference to SilensCursor's "Renegade Cause". Awesome fanfiction.

**CHAPTER FOUR: Dissent**

The last hour had been a blur. Harry remembered screams of anguish – and crying. A lot of crying. Everything else seemed unfocused, deemed not important enough by his shocked psyche to remember clearly. But he did remember Sirius arriving at the living room and staring in horror at Ginny, much like he had moments before.

He remembered Hermione, her head whipping from him to Ginny and back, unable to comprehend what she was seeing. He remembered Ron stumbling back and falling at the sight of his sister and Mrs. Weasley making strangled noises because she couldn't get an honest cry out of her throat. And finally he remembered Dumbledore Flooing in, casting one glance at Ginny's unmoving form and raising his wand. Then there was blackness.

He looked around him, dazed. He grasped for his wand, but it wasn't there. He summoned it, but it wouldn't come.

"Where am I?" he asked, feeling as if his head was spinning. He collapsed to the floor in an undignified heap. "_Where am I_?"

"You are," Dumbledore's gentle voice answered him, "in my house. In the attic, specifically."

He blinked away the dizziness and tried to make sense of the words. Dumbledore's house? Dumbledore had a _house_?

"I thought… you lived at Hogwarts," he said dumbly.

"Only during the school year," the Headmaster explained. "For all its wonders, when you have spent as many years as I in the castle, it can get quite boring at times."

"But _why_ am I here?" Harry demanded.

"You attacked Miss Weasley," the elder mage said softly. "You had to be removed from the Headquarters."

The remnants of confusion were swept away by the Headmaster's statement. "I _didn't_ attack Ginny," Harry protested furiously. "That was-"

"Voldemort," Dumbledore finished for him. "I'm well aware of that fact. And, as shocked as they are, so is everyone else. I thought it prudent to make it quite clear."

"Then what am I doing here?" Harry asked bluntly. "I have to go back, I have to talk to Sirius. The Ministry-"

"Let me worry about the Ministry for the moment," Dumbledore insisted, gently but firmly. "You cannot go back to Grimmauld Place right now. You were possessed by Voldemort."

He knew it, of course, on some semi-conscious level, but hearing it said by someone else brought the full gravity of the fact down upon him.

"How?" he whispered.

"Possession is not quite as uncommon as you might think," Dumbledore began. "There are ghosts, malevolent spirits, who utilize it fairly often. Of course, there are no such hostile ghosts at Hogwarts and never will be, as long as I'm the Headmaster."

"I don't care about _ghosts_," Harry sputtered in anger. "How did Voldemort control my body? I- he didn't control my mind. I was still _myself_, if that makes any sense…" He stopped for a moment, trying to find the right words.

"Go on," Dumbledore encouraged.

"I was conscious through the possession," Harry said. "I remember it now, I saw everything… Voldemort only controlled my body, like I was his _puppet_," he spat with disdain.

"Physical possession," Dumbledore spoke. "Body, but not the mind. That very rarely happens and is nigh impossible to perform for a living being."

"If it's so difficult, how did Voldemort manage it?" Harry asked angrily. "Well, alright, he's _Voldemort_ but…"

"Thanks to your unique mental connection, no doubt," the Headmaster said with confidence. "And as long as that connection is open to him, he could probably do it again, although not for some time. Such magic requires great energy."

"So," Harry said slowly, "the connection has to be closed."

_Which surely means I won't be able to access his mind anymore, _he thought,_ but I'd rather he can't do it to me either._

"Doubtlessly."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Harry said impatiently. "Tell me how to do it so we can get back to Grimmauld Place."

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "Were it that easy, Mr. Potter. Alas, I do not know how."

Harry _looked_ at him. "What do you mean you don't know?"

"I have seen much in my life," the Headmaster said sadly, "but the connection which you and Voldemort share is something entirely unique. I have never before encountered anything like it."

"You don't know," Harry repeated. "But it doesn't mean there isn't _someone_ who does."

Dumbledore's eyes darkened visibly. "The only person who may possess such knowledge of soul magic is beyond your reach."

"How can you be sure?" Harry snapped. "Tell me who it is! _Tell_ _me_!"

Dumbledore's gaze became harder and so did his voice. "Mr. Potter," he said, "you forget your place."

"I know exactly where my place is," Harry argued. "And it's not here."

"Where is it then?"

"Wherever I can do Voldemort most harm."

"You speak of revenge," Dumbledore said with sudden realization.

"Of course I speak about revenge!" Harry exclaimed in frustration. ""After all Voldemort has done to me, you didn't think I'd want revenge?"

"I had hoped you would not stoop to his level," Dumbledore said quietly. "I would not see you become what you fight against, Harry."

"I will never be like Voldemort," Harry said indignantly.

"It is our choices that make us who we are. If you make the same choices Voldemort did, you will be no better than him."

"I respectfully disagree, Headmaster," Harry snapped. "I think I'm loads better than Voldemort. I don't hate all purebloods as Voldemort does muggles. I just want him dead."

Dumbledore watched him for a long moment and then left, without another word.

Harry, now alone, decided to explore his new surroundings. He had the awful impression that he was, at least for now, a prisoner in Dumbledore's attic. He had tried using wandless magic before coming to Grimmauld Place, but, predictably, he'd had little success. Apart from summoning his wand over short distances, he couldn't do anything. Now, his wand had been taken away from and so was his ability to consciously perform magic for the most part.

The attic looked like a rather big, cozy apartment than a typical attic, full of cobwebs and unused or broken objects. The ceiling was the underside of a pitched roof and there was a bay window at each end. The furnishings were simple – a single bed, a small closet and a tiny bathroom in the corner, equipped with everything a person might need. Obviously Dumbledore wanted him to be moderately comfortable.

That still didn't make the fact that he was imprisoned any less infuriating.

Eventually his rage settled into a controlled anger, bubbling under the surface. Three times throughout the day a house elf popped in, left a meal tray and then took it away when he was finished. He saw no reason to starve himself. He doubted Dumbledore would drug him.

It was a brilliant sunset outside when the Headmaster came back – and he didn't come alone.

"Snape," Harry spat at the Potions Master.

"Professor Snape, Harry," Dumbledore corrected.

"Yes, whatever." Harry waved him off irritably. "What is he doing here?"

"Professor Snape is here to assist us."

"Believe me, Potter, I'd much rather do anything else than spend any amount of time in your company." The man scowled at him.

"The connection lies within your mind," Dumbledore explained. "I prefer not to venture inside while Voldemort has access to it. Professor Snape is one of the most accomplished practitioners of mind arts I that know."

Snape glanced at Dumbledore, who nodded curtly.

"Don't resist, Potter," Snape said suddenly, raising his wand. "It'll be much easier. _Legilimens_!"

The room vanished and suddenly Harry was standing in a misty landscape as images of past events swirled around him.

Then he felt a lance of white-hot pain go through him and the memories dissolved into a whirlwind of colors until eventually random ones flew out of the maelstrom straight at him.

_He was casting the Fiendfyre and failing to control it. He was threatening he Dursleys. He was flying against the Horntail._

He gasped when the images exploded in a puff of smoke and another set appeared. _He was talking to Quirrell in the chamber deep under Hogwarts. He was kneeling over Ginny's unmoving body while Tom Riddle looked on, laughing coldly…_ _He felt his body constricted by ropes, binding him to a stone statue as Voldemort approached him, reaching out with his pale, spider-like hand-_

Everything ended in a flash and he was back in the attic.

"It will be difficult, Headmaster," Snape announced. "His mind is entirely disorganized. I'm amazed that for someone with such experiences he hasn't tried to turn some of this chaos into at least _controlled_ chaos."

"What," Harry growled, "did you _do_?"

"Legilimency, Potter," Snape said succinctly. "Look it up."

"Legilimency allows you to enter and navigate another person's mind," Dumbledore explained. "Occlumency, its opposite, allows one to protect one's mind from outside influences."

"Then you want me to learn this… Occlumency?" Harry asked.

"Yes," the Headmaster said. "Until we can somehow destroy your connection with Voldemort, or at least close it, you shall remain here and learn Occlumency from Severus."

Snape looked none too happy at this, but he didn't dare complain. Harry, on the other hand, felt compelled to voice his concerns.

"Will the learning entail more of _him_," he said, pointing at Snape, "wading through my head?"

"It is the quickest method."

Harry crossed arms on his chest. "I refuse to let that creep look around in my head. It's bad enough that Voldemort did it."

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice in the matter, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said and that was the end of it. "Try to get some sleep. You need rest."

Soon afterward, a house elf popped in with his trunk and all his possessions in it and pointed him to a bookcase in the corner, filled with various tomes, which he was free to peruse.

He wasn't in the mood to read, however and spent the rest of the evening pacing restlessly and kept telling himself that Dumbledore probably wouldn't take well to it if he wrecked the attic.

When his watch stroke one o'clock, he was still too agitated to sleep. He lay down on the bed and closed his eyes, trying to find some rest nonetheless.

It was, as he'd expected, entirely useless. He let his mind wander, but his thoughts always inevitably came back to Ginny, blood dripping from her wrists and neck - and Voldemort.

Why would Voldemort target _her_, of all people? Ron was, admittedly, much closer to him. Harry doubted Voldemort had intimate knowledge of his social life and suspected the Dark Lord knew what everyone else did – his best friends (although not lately) were Ron and Hermione. Ron had been in the same room with him last night. Why not attack him? Why risk exposure and specifically seek out someone else? And even then, Hermione shared the bedroom with Ginny.

It made no sense. And yet, there was a possible reason why Voldemort might have thought Ginny to be a more desirable target…

Surely he'd found out – from Lucius, probably – about the diary debacle. Perhaps he even knew what had transpired in the Chamber of Secrets, having found out somehow. Maybe there was some of the diary's magic left in her and Voldemort felt drawn to it. Or maybe Voldemort thought that, after Harry had saved her life in the Chamber, Ginny was his secret girlfriend or something.

Harry snorted at the ridiculous thought. Then again, he could think of no other reasons for Ginny being targeted instead of Ron or Hermione. Or Sirius, for that matter.

He checked his watch again – it was past three in the morning. He let out a long sigh. What was he supposed to do?

_You know what you have to do,_ his own inner voice replied. _The question is, do you have enough willpower to do it?_

He furrowed his eyebrows, staring at the ceiling. Willpower? He'd out-willed Voldemort in the graveyard, hadn't he? He'd pushed the orb of light at Voldemort, turned the _Priori_ _Incantatem_ effect against him, even though the Dark Lord had fought him all the way. Hell, he'd managed to get into Voldemort's mind and it took him a month to even notice!

Oh, he had the willpower alright.

_Yes,_ he thought to himself. _I know what I have to do._

He closed his eyes.

~~oOo~~

Ginny's eyes fluttered open. She winced as the memories came back in a flood. She had been scared, but she wasn't anymore.

The night's events had been frightening and unexpected… at first. She knew, subconsciously, that Harry would never hurt her. He wasn't like that. They weren't very close friends, but he'd never been hostile towards her. He was hardly ever hostile towards anyone.

It had hurt when the slid his finger across her wrists and her throat, muttering spells under his breath, to halt the bleeding enough so that she wouldn't die. It had been Voldemort that attacked her, but he didn't want her dead, for some unthinkable reason.

She couldn't fathom why. She'd have thought killing her would strike heavily at the morale of her loved ones. And Harry's of course. Wasn't that just the kind of thing Voldemort would have wanted?

Perhaps he let her live because he wanted Harry to look at her and be flooded with guilt each time he did. That would be something Voldemort – _Tom_ – could think. And Harry always blamed himself for everything.

She felt weak and her throat was dry. She looked around the room - everyone was there. Her parents, her brothers, Hermione-

And Sirius. He was there too, tall and dark, leaning against the doorframe and playing idly with a silver chain around his neck. He was watching her with concern, but his face was otherwise calm and smooth.

He was the first to notice she had woken up, perhaps because he was looking at her so intently.

"Ginny," he spoke, his voice clear and firm. "How are you feeling?"

Everyone else collectively jumped.

"My memory is a bit fuzzy," she replied hoarsely. "And I would _kill_ for a glass of water right now."

Ron immediately stood from his seat, prepared to stomp down to the kitchen, but Sirius put and arm in front of him.

"I've got it," he said, and flicked his wand, conjuring a glass, which he then filled with water via the _Auguamenti_ charm. Someone handed it to Ginny and she drank.

"A little better," she declared, laying back down. "How long have I been out?"

"A few hours, dear," her mother said, stroking her hair. In all honesty, Ginny felt a bit silly and more than a little freaked out, with everyone watching her every move, but she kept quiet.

"Where's Harry? Is he okay?"

She could _feel_ the atmosphere in the room thickening.

"Professor Dumbledore took him to his house. He seemed alright," Hermione said.

"Oh, of course he was," Ron snapped. "He wasn't the one who got slashed up and glued to a wall in the middle of the night!"

"Ron," Arthur reprimanded him. "You _know_ that wasn't Harry. He's as much a victim in this as Ginny."

"Yeah, well." Ron wouldn't let up. "Good riddance, I say. If he has You-Know-Who lurking in his head-"

"Ron," Ginny interrupted him. "Shut up."

She thought she saw a shadow of appreciation cross Sirius' face.

"Not to be rude, but can you please leave?" she asked. "It's a bit crowded in here… and I would like to change out of these clothes."

There was a string of 'of course's' and 'sorry's' as everyone hustled out of the room, eager to please her. She threw off the bed sheet and stood up, regarding her bloodied pajamas critically.

"Thank you," someone said suddenly and she looked up to find Sirius still leaning against the door, not having moved from his position.

"What for?"

"For standing up for Harry," Sirius explained, pushing off the wall. "As you can imagine, few people are on his side right now. Rationally, they know it wasn't his fault, but… well, it's only natural for them to want to blame someone and since Voldemort is kind of unavailable, Harry makes for a perfect scapegoat."

"It's okay. Ron's a prat," she said, eliciting a chuckle from Sirius. "I know how it is to be possessed by Voldemort."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "You used his name."

"A pseudonym," she clarified. "It's not even a name. His name is Tom. And I think," she added, "that I've earned the right to call him whatever I want."

"I'm sure Harry would agree," Sirius said with a nod.

"He would," Ginny said knowingly. "What's that?" she asked, pointing.

Sirius lifted the silver chain. "This?" He drew out the rest of it from behind his shirt. A silver signet ring with a round black stone hung from it. "It's the Black Ring," he explained. "It belongs to the Head of the Family, which, at the moment, happens to be me. I keep it on the chain because it's a bit too tacky for my tastes. I'm not a ring person."

"What kind of person are you, then?" Ginny asked, amused.

Sirius shrugged. "I've always had a soft spot for cats, but I dare not keep one right now. Buckbeak lives on the top floor and he _eats_ cats, among other things. Anyway." He turned to leave. "Thank you, again. If you need anything-"

"I'll ask. Thanks." She smiled. "He'll be okay." She didn't say Harry's name, but it was obvious to both of them who she meant.

"Of course he will," Sirius said with conviction. "He's Harry."

~~oOo~~

He sprinted through the hallway, focused on nothing but the door at the end. He knew he didn't have much time. Voldemort would be watching now, alert for any sign of him. Prior to today's afternoon, Harry had no idea there even was something like mind magic. He wasn't trained at it and he was willing to bet large sums of money that Voldemort had mastered it.

Therefore, there was no need to be subtle. His advantage now lay in surprise.

He crashed into the door, the impact almost tearing it from its hinges. Harry looked around wildly, looking for the familiar path leading to Voldemort's memory.

He flung himself onto it recklessly, leaping over a line of fire that suddenly erupted beneath him, feeling the flames lick his shoes. He ran and ran, as fast as he could, venturing still deeper into his nemesis' mind.

He'd never gone so far before. Usually he would tip-toe on the fringes, nibbling at whatever memories he could reach. Now, pursued by Voldemort's cold fury, he tore into the deep of his mind, somehow bypassing all the invisible barriers as if they weren't there, attributing it to the mental connection.

He halted, seeing a pulsating, enormous sphere in front of him. It was surrounded by fingers of black smoke and he could hear distant whispers emanating from it. He smiled coolly, confident he had found what he was looking for. He drew back his arm and threw it forward, with all the force he could muster.

The sphere shattered into a million pieces, as if it were made of glass.

~~oOo~~

Ginny quickly recovered from her ordeal and was now wolfing down a second helping of dinner. Hermione watched with amazement as the petite girl did a fine imitation of Ron, who looked on gloomily, casting hostile glances around, determined to watch out for his little sister.

Once she was done, Ginny marched to the living room, undisturbed by the fact that hours earlier, she had hung pinned to a wall there. She was pale and her movements were slow and calculated – she had to still be feeling the toll of losing so much blood – but otherwise, she seemed fine. The cuts on her wrists and neck had been healed instantly by Madam Pomfrey whom Professor Dumbledore had brought to the Headquarters earlier.

Hermione, from her seat place across the room, could see the faint outline of a scar that marked the spot where You-Know-Who had left Ginny a Dark Mark. It hadn't been a _real_ Dark Mark, of course – Professor Dumbledore had said as much - but the scar would take some time to heal and it might never disappear completely, was Madam Pomfrey's opinion.

Now, Ginny sat next to Sirius on the same sofa that had been splattered with own blood that very morning, chatting vigorously. They talked about cats, Buckbeak and laughed at something that had to do with the Ancient and Noble Houses, a subject that Hermione wasn't very knowledgeable about. It begged an explanation why on earth would Ginny be talking to Sirius, with whom she hadn't exchanged more than a few words since she'd met him this summer. Sirius himself spent most of the time lurking about the house and generally staying out of everyone's way. When Harry arrived the previous day, he livened up visibly and then spent the rest of the day locked up with his godson in the library.

Ron worked his way into the conversation and talked Sirius into a game of chess. Ginny watched them, clearly amused as Sirius, who turned out to be quite a skilled player, forced Ron to employ all his tricks and still managed to win half the time, seemingly without terrible effort on his part. The three laughed and generally enjoyed themselves, making Hermione feel out of place – until Ron unwisely touched upon the subject of Harry.

The easy smile vanished from Sirius' face. "You know it wasn't his fault, Ron," he said coldly. Hermione was well aware of Sirius' unconditional loyalty to Harry.

"I'm just saying," Ron answered, "that maybe it's a good thing Dumbledore took him away. At least until he learns to keep You-Know-Who out of his head." He moved a piece. "Your move, Sirius."

Sirius just stared at him. "I've been led to understand that you were Harry's friend."

"I am," Ron said. "I just get a little freaked out when my friends get possessed by-"

"_I_ was possessed by Voldemort, Ron," Ginny cut in. "Have you forgotten?"

"That was different," Ron said sternly. "Stay out of this, Gin-"

"Why?" Sirius demanded. "She was attacked, not you," he said through gritted teeth, "and I don't see _her_ blaming Harry."

"Well," Ron continued, "she's little. I don't think she really understands. She could still be in shock, you know."

"_I am not little_!" Ginny shrieked. "And you," she snapped, poking Ron in the chest, "are hardly the one to talk, what with your thick skull. I'm amazed _anything_ gets through."

Sirius said nothing else, simply stood and left. Ginny followed after him shortly.

"Bloody brilliant," Ron muttered, hurling himself into an armchair next to Hermione's. "Everyone's gone _nuts_. Harry stalks around at night stabbing people and- what? What did I say?" he demanded, seeing Hermione slam her book shut and glare at him.

"You really are thick, aren't you, _Ronald_?" she said, rather dryly.

Ron yelled after her as she left the living room, but she didn't even acknowledge him.

_Oh, Harry,_ she thought. _Why do those things always happen to you?_

~~oOo~~

The sphere shattered and he was showered with a rain of glass shards. They covered his skin in a thousand little cuts, a sting of pain coming from each one, magnified by their sheer number.

He gasped and fell to his knees as the dark glass tore at his clothes and the flesh underneath it, his hands, his face. He closed his eyes and put the hands up and tried to back off, but the glass wouldn't stop cutting him…

He dared open his eyes just a little – the shards swirled around him in a mad dance, as if carried by wind. His blood was beginning to pool at his feet. He could only continue forward now.

So he did.

~~oOo~~

Dumbledore sat at the desk in his Hogwarts office, somewhat consoled by the fact that Harry was safe for the moment. And, perhaps more importantly, others were safe from him. The wards around his house were sturdy enough, even if Harry decided, in a fit of rage, to redecorate…

"The boy is… undisciplined," Snape said.

"I am aware that Harry lacks the mental rigor that any Occlumens must have," Dumbledore said from behind the series of slender arcs his fingers formed. "That is why I need you to teach him."

"I hardly think I'm the best choice," Snape argued. "The boy trusts you-"

"I fear that may no longer be the case," the Headmaster interrupted, speaking softly.

"Well," Snape wouldn't be deterred. "He certainly trusts you more than me."

"Severus," Dumbledore pleaded. "My schedule is quite full at the moment, but that is the least of my worries. If it's needed, I will make time for Mr. Potter. I am _asking_ you to teach him."

"On one con-" Snape began, but was interrupted by a frantic house elf that had just apparated in. It was Dobby.

"Master Professor Dumbledore sir!" the elf shrieked in high-pitched tones. "Sprinkle's just coming in and saying something's bad happening to Master Harry!"

Dumbledore stood up, alarmed. "What? What is happening to Harry?"

"Master Harry's being hurt! Bleeding all over-"

Dumbledore's cloak twirled around him and he was gone.

~~oOo~~

Harry took another step forward, growing weaker with each second. Rapid blood loss was like that.

Eventually, however, he found himself in the center of the glass tornado, where the shards didn't fly at all. It was quiet here, and the black smoke he'd seen surrounding the sphere before was just above the ground, like mist on a moist spring morning.

Then the smoke shut upward and he saw images and heard voices. They were just small fragments of many different wholes, but it was still informative. He was looking at Voldemort's deepest held secrets. Several images were repeated quickly, multiple times.

_A man, dressed in immaculate, rich robes, clearly in his prime, then that same man, in battle dress, surrounded by foes and yet it was _them_ who looked frightened. Finally, that man in dirty rags, hugging his knees as he sat in what looked like a cell. He looked fragile – like an old man that he was. _And then...

_NURMENGARD. GRINDELWALD._

Harry flinched violently as the powerful voice echoed in his head.

Then he saw objects. Beautiful, old artifacts, each one with a violent history and capable of gifting the owner with powerful abilities. A delicate, silver crown, looking out of place among other, ordinarily-looking things. A ring, gold and heavy, embedded with a dark green stone. A necklace. A small, intricately carved cup. The images changed faster and faster. And finally, a book. Small, thin, bound in green leather.

He _knew_ that book.

Tom Riddle's diary.

_SOUL_, the voice boomed again. _HORCRUX_. _MIRROR_.

Then everything ended and he heard another, very much familiar voice.

"_POTTER_!"

Harry, broken out of his stupor, flung himself into a sprint again, once more through the glass shards still flying in circles.

In front of him was an empty doorway. Hoping for it to be what he was looking for, he lunged forward.

~~oOo~~

Dumbledore appeared in front of the attic door, unwilling to risk apparating right in. All he knew was that Harry was bleeding. Merlin knew why and what else was happening.

He opened the door carefully, wand at the ready. Seeing no immediate danger, he walked in and looked left, then right.

Harry lay on the bed, bleeding profusely from numerous tiny, deep cuts that marred his entire body. He felt the wards twitch and he knew that Severus had arrived – he would have had to Floo outside the Hogwarts' wards first.

"I need your help, Severus!" he called after the man, then summoned Sprinkle, who appeared right away, already carrying a handful of bottles and vials he'd taken from Dumbledore's personal storage.

"Master- Sprinkle nots knowing what to bring, so he took some of everything!" the elf squeaked.

"You've done well," Dumbledore said, pointing his wand and a bottle leapt into his hand, already uncorked. "Please fetch warm water and fresh towels."

Severus came in at that moment. One look at the boy, lying dead still, was all he needed. He rolled up his sleeves and grasped his wand.

"I don't see essence of dittany here," Snape said. "Find some – fast. I'll need at least two jars. If you don't have it here, there's plenty in my storage in the castle," he instructed, kneeling next to the bed and taking the bottle of Blood Replenishing Potion from the Headmaster. "If you want the boy to live, I suggest you hurry. And find Poppy – I'm no mediwizard."

Dumbledore only nodded and vanished again, leaving Snape alone with Harry.

_Potter, you stupid, idiot child…_

~~oOo~~

Harry was no longer feeling weak. No, he felt _far_ better than normal. He was also no longer in Voldemort's mind. Well, not precisely.

He examined his hands with interest – though they weren't his, to be exact. They were large, pale and strong. He was confident they could crush a human skull if he so desired.

He reached into his robes and drew out a wand – as white as his own pale skin, thirteen and a half inches of yew. He admired it for a moment, at all times aware of Voldemort, furiously trying to regain control of the body, causing a faint headache to settle in at the back of his eyeballs.

He cast a long glance around the room. It was unfamiliar to him. Not surprising. He hadn't expected Voldemort to make his lair somewhere Harry had been, considering he hadn't been to that many places.

Fire crackled in the hearth and a large snake coiled around his feet. It tasted the air with its forked tong, lifting its heart-shaped head.

_Master,_ it hissed. _Master._

He ignored it and looked up. His gaze fell upon two kneeling figures, both covered by long, hooded cloaks. One of them, he knew.

"Stand," he spoke, slowly, deliberately. Two Death Eaters rose to their feet. It felt like a tidal wave of malice and rage washed over him all of a sudden. An ice-cold intent to kill. He raised his wand at the one he didn't recognize and cast the curse with barely a thought. Green light illuminated the room for a moment as the spell slammed into the man.

The Death Eater fell to the floor, dead. Harry turned his gaze on the other, grinning with fiendish glee.

"Wormtail," he hissed in a low voice.

"Y-yes, my lord?" the short, balding man asked. He reeked of fear and his eyes showed it as well.

"I have a task for you," he said. "You will go to a location called Grimmauld Place in London and you shall remain there until I summon you. I have reason to believe that one of Dumbledore's agents will soon be passing through that area. I want you to apprehend him."

"B-but what if I am detected, master?" Pettigrew quivered.

Harry slashed the wand diagonally and muttered under his breath, pretending to cast magic.

"There," he drawled. "You will be unseen to Dumbledore's man. Now, go. I have no more patience for you tonight."

Pettigrew bowed deeply and backed out of the room, careful not to disturb the corpse on the floor. Once he was out in the hall, Harry heard him disapparate with a loud crack.

_ENOUGH,_ Voldemort thundered.

Harry's vision blurred and he was sent tumbling out of Voldemort's body and through his mind, once again passing the dark sphere, now restored. He was hurled with such force that he _broke_ _though_ the door at Voldemort's end of their mental connection. Finally, he landed sprawled on the ground at his end and watched the door slam shut and sink into the smooth, gray wall.

As he'd hoped, Voldemort himself closed the connection, perhaps even tore it apart. He wouldn't risk leaving it open if Harry could control _his_ body. It had been a wild gambit, but it worked.

Harry smiled weakly and closed his eyes, leaving his mind and returning to reality.

~~oOo~~

The cuts were already healing – they weren't curse injuries and dittany was speeding up the process.

He coughed, once, twice and stirred on the bed.

"Careful, Potter." Snape pushed him back into a lying position. "You've lost a lot of blood. Mind telling us what on earth you were thinking?"

"Mr. Potter," Dumledore said to him. "_Harry_. What happened? What did you do? Was it Voldemort again?"

"I forced him to close the connection," Harry explained.

"How-" Snape started, but was cut off.

"No time," he said, an unusual urgency present in his voice. "Professor, listen… _Wormtail_-" He broke into a coughing fit. Snape held a glass of water to his mouth. Harry swallowed loudly.

"What of Peter, Harry? Do you know where he is?" Dumbledore questioned.

"No. But I know where he _will_ be, shortly. He was sent to watch Grimmauld Place-"

"Impossible," Snape interrupted. "The Dark Lord doesn't know about the Headquarters. The Fidelius Charm-"

"_Professor_," Harry insisted. "I know what I'm talking about. He will be there, we can _catch_ him- clear Sirius-"

"Severus, go," Dumbledore ordered. "You've done enough. Poppy and I will watch over him."

Snape left the room, followed by the billows of his cloak.

"Harry, I need you to tell me what you saw. Did you see through Voldemort's eyes?"

"… you could say that."

~~oOo~~

Something that sounded like a small explosion rocked he House of Black, instantly waking all inhabitants. Hermione sat up straight in her bed and looked over at Ginny. Her flaming red hair stood out in the darkness.

"What do you think _that_ was?" she asked.

"I'm not sure I want to know," Hermione replied and scrambled out of the bed, reaching for her wand. She gathered her sleeping gown and threw it on hastily.

"BLACK!" someone yelled from downstairs. "GET DOWN NOW!"

"Was that-" Ginny began, surprised.

"Professor Snape." Hermione gasped quietly. "No, surely not…"

They were interrupted by a cracking sound of apparition.

"Snivellus, if this is your idea of a joke, I _swear_-" they heard Sirius' muffled voice coming from below.

"Shut up, mutt, and gather your wits. Pettigrew will be here momentarily, if he isn't already."

There was a short pause.

"Let's go."

~~oOo~~

"Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said in exasperation. "I do not wish to force you to tell me what transpired between the moment I left and when you woke up-"

"Then don't," Harry said, stubbornly looking away. He couldn't risk Dumbledore using Legilimency on him.

"- but I will," Dumbledore finished. "If there is no other way for me to find out."

Harry refused to speak, gripping at the windowsill, his entire body tense. He wouldn't give in, wouldn't let Dumbledore _judge_ him-

A hand fell gently on his shoulder. "Mr. Potter." The Headmaster's voice was rigid and commanding. "Please, do not force me. I _must_ know."

He took Dumbledore's hand by the wrist and pried it off his shoulder. The next moment he felt his body freeze and being levitated back to the bed, where Dumbledore leaned over him. Harry closed his eyes shut, but Dumbledore forced them open magically.

He looked up, down, left and right, anywhere but straight ahead into Dumbledore's blue eyes, but it was for nothing.

"I'm very sorry, Harry, but you leave me no choice. I only want what's best for you," he said, and then his face hardened. "_Legilimens_."

~~oOo~~

Sirius crept among the long shadows cast by the street lamps. One entire side of Grimmauld Place was a occupied by a small park, which was the most obvious hiding place in the area. In other words – just where Peter would think to hide.

He knew that Snape had entered the park from the side, disillusioned as well. They would search the area and catch Peter in pincers, if at all possible.

Sirius moved forward slowly, taking carefully measured steps. It wouldn't do to let the traitor escape them. Not now, when a truly golden opportunity had presented itself. It could be their only chance – if there was one thing Peter was good at, it was hiding. Sneaky little bastard.

He circled around a tree, away from a puddle of light from a street lamp – disillusion worked best when one remained still and the distortion would be clearly visible in that kind of light, against a dark background. Peter was a worthless coward, but he wasn't a complete idiot – he used to be a very good lookout during their school years.

When a twig snapped under his shoe, Sirius froze, trying to eliminate the sound of his sharp breaths. _Goddamn it._

He investigated his immediate surroundings. No movement, no sounds. Nothing. Good.

Satisfied, he continued onward.

~~oOo~~

Memories played out in front of his eyes like footage from a muggle video camera.

_He was talking to Moody at King's Cross station._ Wooosh! _He was sitting at the desk in his room at Privet Drive, smiling in satisfaction as moonlight poured in-_

Woosh! _He was pacing angrily in Dumbledore's attic, pondering what course of action he should take-_

_He was lying on the bed in that same attic, calming his thoughts, eyes closed._ Wooosh!

_- he was sprinting down the gray corridor –_

"_Get out of my head_!" he yelled, focusing his attention on Dumbledore and _throwing_ him out.

Magic clashed against magic and they were both brutally forced out his mind, Harry sprawled across the bed, his head pounding, Dumbledore up against the wall.

He quickly gathered himself and saw the Headmaster walking up to the bed again, apparently unaware that his paralysis had been inadvertently broken-

- the next moment Harry was on top of the man, wrestling his ash wand from him. He clenched his left hand around Dumbledore's throat and pressed the wand deep into his cheek.

"I'm sorry," Dumbledore was saying, his eyes alight with a mad gleam Harry had never seen in them before. "I'm sorry, Harry, but I had to know- I had to know. What was that gray corridor? Was it your connection to Tom? How-"

"_Why_" Harry growled, clenching his fingers tighter and silencing the elder man, "_did you do this, Professor_?"

Dumbledore stared at him for a moment before speaking, not without difficulty. "I brought the young Tom Riddle into our world, Harry!" he rasped. "And I watched him, for years, _knowing_ he was dabbling in dark magic – and I did nothing! Nothing, because the Headmaster at the time forbade me from intervening!"

"What does this have to do with me?" Harry snarled.

"And then, when I met him again, when I _could_ have done something, I let him go, because I wanted to believe there was some good left in him still – and he did such things, Harry, like no one had done before-"

"If you don't start making sense in the next _five_ _seconds_-"

"- I, and I alone, am responsible for what Tom Riddle had become!" Dumbledore cried. "Through inaction, I've created a monster. Because truly evil deeds, Harry, are committed when _good_ people see something wrong and do nothing. And you – you are so much like Tom. I cannot let this happen again, I _will_ _not_-"

"I AM NOT!" Harry yelled, his voice fueled by the pent up anger of the last days. "I am _nothing_ like Voldemort!"

The mad gleam was back. "Oh, but you are, Harry – so much like him. If Tom could see what I see, he would recruit you and make you his most trusted lieutenant-"

"Shut up," Harry snapped, seething. "You're insane."

At once, Dumbledore's face regained its wise, grandfatherly look, contradicting him. "I assure you, Harry," he said, his voice also its calm, usual tone, "that I am in full possession of all my mental faculties. I am, however, frustrated. And I am," he continued as he sharpened his will into a single lance of thought, "truly sorry."

"What-"

"_Legilimens_!"

~~oOo~~

Sirius had been a split second too late.

"Azkaban has made you careless, Sirius," Wormtail purred, twirling his wand between his fingers. "Did you think I have not heard you, stepping on that twig? I have good ears, Sirius-"

He struggled in the ropes, but it only made them constrict around him further.

"And the Dark Lord was right. He said there would be one of Dumbledore's men out tonight – and here you are! I really shouldn't doubt him, even if he is a tad insane. Really, it's ungrateful of me, to doubt the Master."

"Well, you're a few sandwiches short of a picnic yourself, Peter, so I imagine you must get along famously," Sirius snapped. Where in _hell_ was Snape?

Wormtail glared at him. "Watch your tongue, Sirius, or I might decide you don't need it anymore. The Dark Lord doesn't need you to _speak_ to learn everything he wants to know."

"You are a sick, pathetic little man. I pity you."

"You shouldn't," Wormtail assured him. "The Dark Lord cares about his own – and I am one of his most loyal servants. I helped him rise again. And I have been rewarded for my loyalty." He raised his right hand and pulled off the glove.

Underneath, there was no flesh – only an artificial construct of silvery metal, just like Harry had described it.

"Do you like it, Sirius?" Peter asked. "If you prove useful, perhaps the Dark Lord will reward you too…"

~~oOo~~

The memories flowed like a river. Try as he might, Harry couldn't stop them.

Dumbledore was there, standing right next to him, watching the images rearrange themselves into complete memories and then into entire long sections. Those, in turn, snapped into their proper places on an invisible timeline. Harry watched in impotent rage as Dumbledore took his memories and put them together into his complete biography – every secret he'd ever held would soon be known to the mad Headmaster-

_NO._

It was like someone lit a candle in the dark. Like, he couldn't conjure a flame himself, but when that first, small spark had been given to him, he could enlarge and manipulate it however he wanted. That spark – it was enough.

"AARGH!" he yelled, and tackled Dumbledore once more, this time inside his mind. The elder mage's control broke and they were back in the attic, _again_.

Harry rolled off of Dumbledore and pointed his ash wand in the Headmaster's general direction.

"_TONARE_! You bastard, _Tonare_-"

He scrambled to his feet and fled from the room, through the unlocked door and down the stairs-

He tripped and fell flat on his stomach on the hardwood floor.

"Master Harry hurt Master!" Dumbledore's house elf squeaked, incensed. "Master Harry is a bad, bad wizard!"

Unreceptive to the pain, dulled out by adrenaline, Harry seized the elf by the neck and hurled it against the wall, where it slid down to the floor, unconscious. He got up again and looked around wildly. He spotted Dumbledore at the top of the stairs leading to the attic. His eyes were dark and his robes floated around him as magic sparkled in the air.

"Mr. Potter," he said, deadly serious. "That was uncalled for."

Harry wasn't thinking clearly.

"Go to hell._ Avada Kedavra_!"

He could see the shock in Dumbledore's eyes as the elder mage dived to the side.

Simultaneously, the attic door was ripped off its hinges and thrown in the path of the lethal curse, and then reduced to splinters when the sickly green spell collided with it.

Harry was halfway down the next set of stairs by then and looking for a way out of the building. Seeing none and unwilling to waste time searching for it, he pointed the stolen wand at the wall.

He would _make_ himself an exit.

"_BOMBARDA_!"

A section of the wall exploded outward, leaving behind a hole big enough for Harry to escape through. In the garden, he ran straight ahead, the only goal in his racing mind to get as far away from this place as possible-

He leapt over the picket fence and turned back instinctively. Of course, Dumbledore was already making his way forward among the debris, a familiar-looking holly wand in hand-

Harry still wasn't able to think clearly.

"_Burn_, you two-faced bastard," he hissed viciously, raising the ash wand. "_Az-reth_!"

The hellish flame surged from it, eagerly clawing at the fence, the grass…

Harry turned back and ran, the only thought on his mind at the moment, a desire to be somewhere far away, somewhere that wasn't either Dumbledore's house or Grimmauld Place, or even Hogwarts.

With a loud crack, he vanished.

~~oOo~~

Snape stared disbelievingly at Wormtail, standing over a bound and helpless Black.

"Severus," Wormtail greeted him politely. Black, wisely, kept his mouth shut. "The Dark Lord didn't mention you'd be here."

"A coincidence," Snape said, thinking quickly. "I was nearby and felt something familiar."

Peter scrunched up his nose. "Ah, yes – you like visiting muggle bars, don't you? Truly, I have no idea why the Dark Lord tolerates you strange habits-"

"What are you going to do with him?" Snape interrupted, pointing at Black with his chin.

"I have orders," Wormtail said with a superior sniff, "from the Dark Lord himself. I was to apprehend Dumbledore's agent. I'm going to take him to our Master."

Snape eyed Black critically, trying to wordlessly convey a message 'don't break my cover' and, he suspected, failing spectacularly. He could, technically, risk a Memory Charm, but the Dark Lord wasn't above sacrificing Pettigrew's sanity to learn the truth – and that in turn would mean a long and painful death for him.

"See that you do," he said at last. "I have my own business to attend to."

There was a soft pop as he apparated away, leaving Black behind, a look of utter betrayal on his face.

He reappeared several hundred yards away, in the dimly lit hallway of Grimmauld Place Twelve.

"Goddamn you, Black," he swore passionately.

~~oOo~~

Voldemort could not believe his luck.

It had taken several minutes before he fully regained control – he struggled to breathe and move his limbs as precious time bled away. When he felt right again, he knew, Wormtail would have already returned or he will have been captured. Potter wouldn't have wasted such an opportunity when he'd been smart enough to create it himself. With Wormtail, he would get his despicable godfather cleared of mass murder charges, giving him a powerful ally. A pity, but hardly a serious stopper to his own plans.

He did not expect Wormtail to escape the clever trap – for all his skill at spying, he was a poor wizard. Therefore, Voldemort was understandably astonished when his cowardly servant returned triumphant, hauling a seething Sirius Black behind him.

He couldn't stop a malicious grin from blooming on his face – it just _too_ _perfect_.

"I must admit, Wormtail," he said, turning his gaze at the man, "I am pleasantly surprised."

"Thank you, Master," the Death Eater replied, dropping to his knees.

"Perhaps I have underestimated you," Voldemort wondered, thoughtful.

"I do whatever my Master requires," Wormtail answered, with a fanatic gleam in his eyes.

"You shall be rewarded," the Dark Lord continued, actually meaning it. "And as for you, Master Black-"

Harry Potter's godfather looked up at him, proud and defiant.

"- I shall enjoy breaking you."


	6. CHAPTER FIVE: Divergence

**AN: **I don't really have anything important to say, so... enjoy ;)

**CHAPTER FIVE: Divergence**

He landed on all fours, breathing raggedly.

_What just happened? he thought. Did I apparate?_

Then he noticed that his right hand was missing.

"What the _hell_?"

The feeling was surreal; strangely, there was no pain, just dull numbness. He stared at the stump - it looked as if someone had sliced the hand cleanly off.

Shortly, the stupor passed, adrenaline flooded his system again and the world snapped into a sharper focus. After some struggling, he tore a sleeve off his shirt and somehow managed to wrap it around the wound before he investigated his surroundings.

_What is this place?_

He was inside of what seemed to be a ruined house. The room he was in lacked a ceiling and two walls. The floor – what remained of it – was covered in debris: broken furniture, bricks and glass. The moon provided just enough light to make it all out.

I need to get out of here.

He walked through the room into a hallway. Fragments of the floor were missing, so he moved forward cautiously, stepping over large chunks of the roof that had fallen in. The staircase at the end was mostly intact, although he had to jump down because the few bottom steps were destroyed. He looked around again and spotted what appeared to be the front door.

The summer night was hot, the air heavy. He walked faster now, but still carefully, moving from shadow to shadow. Standing on the pavement, he noticed a sign in front of the ruined house.

_This house was left here, unaltered, as a monument to Lily and James Potter, who gave their lives for their son, Harry and all of Wizarding Britain on the 31st of October, 1981. Their sacrifice will not be forgotten._

Overwhelmed by a sudden rush of emotions, Harry collapsed to the ground, eyes darting from the sign to the ruin. He was taking gasps of air, his breath short and shallow, thoughts running wild.

_They died here._ I _almost died here._

Barely moments later instinct took over and grief turned to anger. He had trouble getting a hang of it lately, since the graveyard. Still, he preferred being angry. At least it didn't make him feel weak.

"Get a grip, Potter. Get up," he whispered to himself. He had to decide what to do next.

He couldn't deal with Dumbledore right now. The Headmaster's unexpected assault had only happened minutes ago. Considering that he had retaliated with lethal force, it was probably better to stay away from the man for a while. He would have to go back eventually, but not right now. He needed time to figure out an explanation for his actions.

There was more. The name he'd heard in Voldemort's mind.

_What does Grindelwald have to with Voldemort? Dumbledore defeated him before Tom Riddle even graduated Hogwarts._

He had questions that needed answering, about Voldemort and this horcrux, whatever it was.

_Germany it is, then._

"Sweet Morgana... Isn't that- Harry Potter?"

~~oOo~~

Dumbledore regarded the destruction somberly. It had been tricky, extinguishing Fiendfyre with another person's wand, but he'd done it. Now that his short-lived weakness had passed, he found himself wishing he it hadn't happened in the first place. Harry's opinion concerned him - the boy needed to see him as a friend, an ally - and Dumbledore hadn't been successful on that front as of late. But he was only human. Keeping up the facade of the good uncle of Wizarding Britain was becoming increasingly bothersome. He was tired of it.

Perhaps it was for the better. Or perhaps he had nothing to worry about. Harry had but glimpsed the persona under the mask and, truth be told, he wasn't the most perceptive child Dumbledore had met. Either way, he would find a solution. He always did.

Ever since he'd witnessed the prophecy being spoken that stormy night in Hog's Head, he'd become determined not to repeat his past mistakes. Tom Riddle had already began on a Dark path before coming to Hogwarts, Albus' own inaction weighed heavily on his shoulders. Yes, Voldemort was his mistake, to an extent. He wasn't so arrogant to think that he could have prevented the Dark Lord's rise by himself, but he certainly could, should have done more. He felt a measure of responsibility, just like he had felt responsible for Gellert decades ago. He supposed the average witch or wizard would argue that blaming himself for what Tom Riddle had become in the end was unreasonable, that it wasn't his fault... but then again, an average person often doesn't understand that with power comes responsibility. He simply couldn't help feeling responsible for Harry Potter as well.

The boy was special, there was no denying that fact. Even if he hadn't been named in the prophecy, if there had been no prophecy at all, he still would have stood out from the crowd. His natural affinity to magic wasn't something found in every child. He was one of barely seven such exceptionally powerful individuals born in Britain this century. Mages of that caliber rarely grew up to become just another paper-pusher at the Ministry. The moment Albus saw the infant Harry Potter for the first time, he knew the boy was destined for greatness, in one way or another.

He mourned when Harry's parents died. Albus graduated from Hogwarts with Charles Potter, whose son, Charlus, was James' father and enjoyed a close friendship with the Potters.

Voldemort massacred the family shortly after Lily and James had gone into hiding in Godric's Hollow. Several such campaigns, aimed at eliminating influential families opposing him, had been carried out, but the tragedy that touched the Potters was the most devastating. Of the entire clan only three survived, thanks to the protection the Fidelius Charm provided.

Voldemort spared no one. Death Eaters hunted down even the most distantly related cousins, aunts and uncles. The Potters' ancestral home had been burned to the ground with Fiendfyre. Lion's share of the family's fortune was stolen by well-connected Death Eaters, who utilized obscure loopholes and the faintest of blood ties before Albus pushed his motion to freeze all accounts through the Wizengamot.

Lily and James never even found out. Albus hadn't the heart to burden them further when their lives were already endangered. He knew that he'd have to tell them eventually, but that hadn't been the time. He'd temporarily forbidden the Order from visiting – he didn't doubt Sirius would blurt everything out the moment he stepped through the door.

Fate, true to its twisted nature, relieved him of that grim duty in a most unpleasant way. Not a fortnight after Potter Hall had been destroyed, Peter Pettigrew led his master to Godric's Hollow.

Sirius valiantly and stupidly got himself incarcerated in Azkaban. Albus was just as shocked as everyone else. He wasn't aware there had been a change in Secret Keepers. The Chief Warlock at the time dismissed his proposal to hold a public trial. Sirius was tried in absentia by an Auror tribunal led by Barty Crouch. The evidence had been compelling and damning – as far as anyone was concerned, Sirius had been the Potters' Secret Keeper and by his own admission he had 'betrayed them'. His going after Peter had been the final nail to the coffin. When Albus was elected Chief Warlock, the country was still struggling with the aftermath of war and by the time it was heaved back to its feet, any and all records had already been sealed by Milicent Bagnold. Albus visited Sirius several times in those first few months, but he seemed to be sinking deeper and deeper into apathy and showed no interest in his case.

With Sirius imprisoned, it fell to Albus, according to James and Lily's will, to find a suitable home for Harry. Remus had had to disappear – due to his lycanthropy he was unfit to even apply for adoption and with Fenrir Greyback's increased activity in the last months of the war, werewolves were forced to back out of public life for their own safety.

It put Albus in an uncomfortable situation. Like Remus, he was entirely unfit to serve as Harry's surrogate parent, though for different reasons. For those very reasons he never really committed to a romantic relationship, never married or had children. Ariana, Aberforth and Gellert were painful reminders of his past. That's why he'd decided on the next best, it had seemed, course of action: install Harry with his remaining family.

He'd only met Petunia a few times, most recently at Lily and James' funeral and, in all honesty, she hadn't left the best impression, but she was still Lily's sister. Surely she would take Harry in. Whatever differences she and Lily might have had, Albus thought she could be trusted with the boy's wellbeing.

How wrong he had been.

Now, Albus realized that a letter couldn't have been enough to explain the situation sufficiently. He should have paid the Dursleys a visit first. Alas, everything seems clearer in hindsight.

The decision to entrust Harry with Petunia had been influenced by the fact that she was his closest surviving blood relative, which allowed Albus to cast the most potent protections. They would have worked if Harry had lived with any of his distant cousins, of which there were a few, but Dursleys being muggles had the added benefit of having no ties whatsoever to the wizarding world, apart from Lily. Albus had wanted for Harry to grow up without his fame hanging overhead. Considering Dursleys' treatment of Harry, it was almost a miracle that the boy turned out as he had – a kind, humble soul.

Of course, that was before the graveyard.

Albus couldn't be sure, as his understanding of soul magic was... limited, but he could make an educated guess.

The horcrux, obviously. He couldn't think of any other reason for the abrupt changes in Harry's behavior.

He felt sadness, even resentment over what Harry Potter had had to endure, but it was for the greater good of all. And it wasn't the worst thing the Headmaster of Hogwarts blamed himself for. He had many regrets, but he'd learned to hide his guilt deeply and not let it cloud his judgment.

Well, there was no point in crying over past mistakes. He could make sure there wouldn't be any more mistakes in the future. To that end, he needed to find Harry. Fortunately, the boy had taken his wand with him. His ash wand, which had a Tracking Charm on it.

He produced a small trinket from his robes and tapped it with Harry's wand, activating the Charm and frowned. It couldn't be...

He turned on his heel and walked briskly in the direction the Charm was pointing him. About two hundred yards from the remnants of his formerly white picket fence he found his wand – along with Harry Potter's fist clenched tightly around it.

"Oh, dear..."

He needed Severus.

~~oOo~~

Sirius sat in the darkest corner of his cell, as he used to do during his time in Azkaban. He would sit, unmoving, his unfocused mind wondering. Now, at least he had something to occupy his hands with.

The necklace. He found it several months ago, when he'd decided to go and inspect his family home. He found it abandoned, except for Kreacher, who spent his days catering to his mother's portrait's every whim and mourning Regulus.

Ah yes, Regulus. He had been his parents' favorite, a proper pureblood – proper Black. Regulus paid attention during their tutoring sessions and was always eager to please their demanding mother. He would always learn the dance steps first and enjoyed hearing about the exploits of House Black. Sirius despised him. There were few people he held in more contempt. Voldemort. Wormtail. Severus bloody Snape.

Regulus had joined the Death Eaters while he was still in school. Sirius was already tearing his way through Auror training program with James and Remus – it didn't matter, back then, that Moony was a werewolf – the Ministry needed every willing man and woman to bolster their ranks.

Regulus wasn't about to be outdone by his brother - he'd been Voldemort's informant at Hogwarts, in Snape's place. Sirius never believed the rumors that Regulus had seen the error of his ways and attempted to defect to Dumbledore's side – there was no evidence to support that claim, apart from vague statements made by some of the convicted Death Eaters and Sirius was reluctant to believe anything they said.

So when he returned to Grimmauld Place, he stormed into his brother's old bedroom and wrecked it – he'd torn a scaled-down version of the family tree off the wall, broke the heavy mahogany desk into half and reduced the bed sheets to feathers. He'd piled the clothes, a Death Eater's robes and mask among them, on the floor and burned them, fueling the fire with anything that looked remotely flammable.

And then he found it.

It had been hidden in a well-warded drawer of the ruined desk. A gold pendant, embedded with an 'S' made of tiny green gemstones, hanging from a matching, finely crafted chain. He wanted to destroy it as well, melt the metal and leave it there, in a scorching puddle. But he couldn't.

It was filled with magic, _Dark_ magic. Sirius had never seen anything like it. He knew, rationally, that not destroying it was probably a bad idea, but he couldn't bring himself to doing it.

So, he took the locket for himself. He had it on his person at all times. Even in the shower, the gold glittered around his neck. Sirius hungrily drunk the magic it contained.

When it wasn't on his neck, he had it in a pocket somewhere. He had it on when he met Harry in the cave outside Hogsmeade and when he guarded his godson in the infirmary at Hogwarts. He had it with him now.

Eventually, Sirius realized that the necklace wasn't just a well of magic. It held knowledge as well, knowledge of some of the nastiest, Darkest arts there were. A normal person would be appalled by it. Dark magic was a strange beast - ugly on the outside, but the deeper you went, the more intriguing and alluring it became, the more it pulled you in and before you knew it, you couldn't go on without it. It was an addiction of the worst kind, because there was no going back, under any circumstances.

When he started receiving memories from it - incomplete, just images and sounds and smells - Sirius felt like freaking out was the reasonable thing to do, especially since the artifact had stopped only giving and started taking. But, of course, he still kept the locket, because he was just that stubborn - or perhaps the artifact's magic had too strong a grasp on him by then.

Slowly, it attempted to chip away his personality, as if it wanted to supplement his very soul for that of its creator. Well, Sirius decided he'd be damned before he gave in. If there was one positive thing about having spent twelve years in Azkaban, it was that life in prison had hardened him. And he wasn't going to let a piece of _jewelry_ succeed where Azkaban had failed.

Besides, assimilating the Dark magic wasn't as taxing for him as, he suspected, it would have been for someone like James, who'd been born into a Light family and brought up to treat Albus Dumbledore as the paragon of goodness. Sirius hated what was left of his own family with a passion for what they made him endure, but he was a Black through and through and Blacks got their name for a reason.

Not without difficulty, he prevailed. There had been some close calls, but in the end, he managed to tip the scales in his favor permanently. He still had to be on his guard, of course.

He'd asked himself countless times – should he tell Dumbledore? Or Harry, perhaps? Maybe Remus? But the answer was always the same.

Absolutely fucking no.

It would be an insane thing to do – he doubted convincing anyone that his decision to keep the locket had been the right one was even possible. _Especially_ Harry - or Dumbledore, who'd never even touched Dark magic. He would be in St. Mungo's Ward for the Unhinged and Otherwise Mentally Impaired before he could explain anything further.

He didn't want to part with the locket, however, so he hid it in plain sight. To everyone else, it appeared as the Black Family Ring on a silver chain. The actual Ring sat, invisible, on his finger, as it was supposed to. Initially he feared that Dumbledore or Moody might see through the spell, but thankfully, they hadn't. In Grimmauld Place the house's magic strengthened that of its Master.

Now, in the dark of his cell, Sirius sat, opening and closing the locket, over and over again. Barely anything was left in it still. He predicted it would be drained completely within days, if not hours. It was a good thing, he thought. When the process was complete, he could destroy the locket and none would be the wiser.

In the several hours that had passed since his capture – he was furious with himself for getting caught by Peter of all people – the Dark Lord had been to see him only once. When he came, Sirius stashed the locket in the corner of the cell, where a piece of stonework had been chipped away.

Voldemort did not taunt or torture him. He merely stared at him passively, and Sirius stared back. That silent contest went on for several excruciatingly long minutes, until the Dark Lord looked away, a bored expression on his face, and spoke in a tone one might use when discussing weather.

"I am willing to give you a chance to join my ranks, Master Black."

"Why, that is awfully generous of you," Sirius said thoughtfully. "But no."

"You are a talented wizard," Voldemort continued. "And correct me if I'm mistaken, but there had been rumors that you used to be one of my most trusted Death Eaters. My right hand, in fact." He paused and his crimson eyes flashed a dark red. "Who knows – if you prove as skilled as my sources claim you are, the rumors... could cease being just rumors."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Which part of the word 'no' do you not understand? It's just two letters."

"I tell you this in confidence… you interest me, Sirius Black." A hint of amusement was visible on the Dark Lord's face. "Rarely do I meet people who do not quiver in fear at the mere sight of me."

"You must be associating with the wrong people then," Sirius replied. "There are plenty who don't deflate when some wanker glares at them. I've always thought that Death Eaters were twats – hiding behind masks and all that. Now I know why."

Voldemort let the insult slide. "Perhaps I haven't made myself clear, Black. You are being given a choice – join me willingly... or not."

"Not join you, or not willingly?"

"You regard yourself as witty and amusing, don't you, Master Black," Voldemort said.

"Well, you seem amused," Sirius pointed out. "So I'd say my high opinion of myself is rather justified."

Voldemort was silent for a moment.

"We shall talk again soon," he said at last, and left.

Since then, Sirius had seen no one. His food – a surprisingly delicious stew – appeared magically, along with a pint of beer.

Out of habit, he muttered detection spells over the meal, finding both free of poison. Well, he wasn't going to say no to a stew.

He would need his strength for the escape.

~~oOo~~

Feeling overwhelmed by everything that was happening, Hermione found herself wasting time, something that she normally tried to avoid at all costs. Time, she always told herself, was too precious to be spent on doing nothing. Now, however, she couldn't find anything to do - in the house of one of the most notorious families of Wizarding Britain. Knowing that Sirius was probably trapped somewhere in You-Know-Who's dungeon and Harry was... well, not here, took away her vigor. She didn't care if everybody noticed, but it annoyed her that they couldn't just leave her alone.

Ron, who had apparently decided to become her shadow, was the first to suggest that 'maybe we could, erm, do something... you know, together'. Hermione just glared at him and asked why he wasn't worried about Harry and Sirius, when there was every reason to. He didn't answer, but at least he'd kept his mouth shut since then.

Mrs. Weasley had been more insisting, so Hermione compromised by eating whatever she put on her plate, four times a day. It seemed to keep her satisfied. Fred and George locked themselves in their bedroom, behind a set of impressive silencing charms and hardly paid attention to anyone else.

Order members came and went, sometimes sharing some news, none of which, regrettably, had concerned Harry or Sirius so far. A few tried to talk to her, but quickly gave up when she didn't answer - they had more important things to do than comforting a teenager and Hermione preferred it that way.

Only one person seemed utterly disinterested in her and, ironically, it made Hermione want to find out why.

"Hey Ginny," she said quietly, sitting down next to the red-haired girl in the library.

"Hey," Ginny said back. "Did you want something?"

Hermione didn't really know what to say. Why did she come here, exactly?

"I guess... I wanted to thank you," she said at last. "For not pestering me."

"I know you and Harry are close," she said. "It's okay to be worried about him. And it's nobody else's business how you do the worrying."

"Thanks. Although..."

"Although what?" Ginny asked, not raising her eyes from the book she was reading.

"I don't know if we're that close anymore."

"What makes you say that?"

"He's been distant lately," Hermione said. "It started a while ago... just after the Tournament..."

"He fought Voldemort," Ginny said simply. "He's probably still working it out."

"I know." Hermione's gaze slid across the book in Ginny's hands. The title was obscure. "What are you reading?"

"'Wiles of Shadow'," Ginny replied.

"Yes, I can see that," Hermione said. "But what is it about? From the title it sounds like... a romance novel."

"I never would have thought Hermione Granger read romance novels."

"I don't," Hermione said. "So?"

Ginny turned a page. "I guess you could say it's a beginner's guide to Dark Arts."

Hermione's eyes widened in surprise. "What?"

"Why so serious, Hermione?" Ginny asked. "It's a field of magic, just like any other. Aren't you interested? Even on a purely academic level?"

"No," Hermione said quickly. "Well, I might have... peeked. But I would never actually-"

"Suit yourself," Ginny interrupted her.

Hermione frowned "And why are you interested in Dark magic?"

"Dark Arts are the most powerful magic there is, Hermione."

"You were never interested in power before," Hermione said suspiciously.

Ginny's smile made Hermione flinch.

"There's a lot you don't know about me."

~~oOo~~

The second visit he received in the dark dungeon wasn't from Voldemort, but from that rat, Peter.

"You shall dine with the Dark Lord tonight," Wormtail informed him disdainfully. Sirius could have sworn he heard a pang of jealousy in his pathetic, squeaky voice.

"He's inviting me to dinner?" Sirius asked. "I'm flattered, really… I mean, I'm sure that underneath that pallor and lack of a nose he's a perfectly nice bloke, but I don't swing that way. And we've only just met."

Wormtail glowered at him. "In an hour, you will be escorted to a bathroom, where you will wash."

Sirius chuckled openly. "It's getting interesting. Do continue."

"There will be robes waiting for you. Then you shall join the Dark Lord in the dining room."

"There's a _dining room_ in Voldemort's secret lair?" Sirius asked, astonished. "Well, I never."

But Peter had already left.

Within an hour, he came back, with additional escort in the form of two hooded Death Eaters.

"Get up," Wormtail ordered. "Move away from the bars and face the wall. Put your hands above your head where I can see them."

Having stashed the locket in its improvised hiding spot earlier, Sirius obeyed silently. He really wasn't in a position to do anything else until he could get his hands on a wand, preferably his own.

One of the Death Eaters kept a wand trained on him while the other handcuffed his hands behind his back with magic-inhibiting cuffs. Sirius tensed and drew in a deep, shuddering breath, as the enchantments kicked in. Clever bastards.

They tied a black cloth around his eyes and led him through the building, leaving it to himself to watch out for stairs. He swore every time he tripped.

Eventually, they arrived wherever it was they were going. It turned out to be a spacious room, stripped of furniture and decorations. Just bare walls and a wood-paneled floor. There were two huge windows and two doors – one obviously leading out into the hallway and the other, Sirius concluded, to the bathroom.

Wormtail chucked a bundle of clothing and a pair of shoes at him and snarled, pointing at a door, "You have fifteen minutes."

Sirius raised a challenging eyebrow. "And what happens after fifteen minutes?"

"I will drag you out of there myself."

Sirius hurried inside – he had no intention of letting Peter seeing him in the nude. Then again, what guarantee was there that the rat wouldn't barge in after thirteen and a half minutes? Or eleven?

He showered quickly, bemoaning the lack of windows and any useful objects he could have nicked from the bathroom. Voldemort had covered all bases.

Fortunately, Peter kept his promise of fifteen minutes and Sirius emerged from the bathroom moments before the time was up.

"I must say, Peter," he said appreciatively, "those charmed towels were a really nice touch."

"Blindfold," was his only response, and directed at one of the Death Eaters.

Sirius made it a point to sigh overtly. "Is this really necessary?"

"Shut up," Peter snapped.

Shortly, they were there and the blindfold was taken away again. Sirius smoothed out the moderately-presentable robe – it wasn't too bad, but he preferred his own dress robes.

Wormtail and his friends vacated the room, locking the door behind them and then Voldemort strode in.

"Master Black," he greeted in a perfectly polite manner.

"You really don't need to call me that, you know," Sirius told him. "'Master' – it doesn't suit me. Just Sirius is fine."

One corner of Voldemort's lipless mouth twitched and he gestured for him to sit. They sat at the opposing ends of a long table that could sit twenty people with ease. Through enormous western windows, the last glimpse of a sunset could be seen.

Sirius sat down and so did Voldemort. He clapped his hands and an array of dishes appeared in front of each of them.

"You actually eat human food?" Sirius asked with genuine interest.

Voldemort smiled above a glass of wine. "Why wouldn't I? I am human."

Sirius' eyebrows joined in a deep frown. "I had thought… you know, that maybe you survived on blood of the virgins, or something like that. I haven't met many Dark Lord who looked like you."

"And how many have you met… Sirius?"

"Just you," he admitted. "But Dumbledore once told me that despite being a complete rotten bastard, Grindelwald looked, well, normal. He looked his age. Sixty-something."

"Grindelwald." Voldemort repeated the name slowly. "Yes, he was cruel. But he wasn't mad – or a monster."

"Oh yeah? What was he?"

The Dark Lord's eyes glinted a dangerous red. "Defeated."

Sirius clinked a fork against his glass. "You have a point. History is written by the victors. If that duel fifty years ago had gone the other way, we would all be indoctrinated little Nazis, toiling for the greater good of humankind and Dumbledore would be the big bad wizard."

A brief silence ensued. "How do you find dinner, Sirius?" Voldemort asked, as if they were two best friends.

"Not bad," Sirius said truthfully. "I've had better, but I guess I can't fault you for not hiring the best chef in the British Isles."

"Those are… _interesting_ spells you're whispering."

Sirius took a sip of wine. "Poison detection. Forgive me if I don't take your hospitality for granted. Force of habit."

"I am not offended," Voldemort said calmly.

"Oh, good."

"I was merely curious. It is good to see that you haven't forgotten who you are, despite your… poor choice of acquaintances."

"I think it's a sad reality where I have to check food for poison just to make sure I will be able to get up from the table after the meal," Sirius retorted.

"You are a pureblood wizard, Sirius Black," Voldemort stated. "Even something as trivial as the lessons pureblood children learn in their youth are a part of your heritage. Do you not take pride in it?"

"I won't deny that money and social standing are good things to have... Well, scratch the 'social standing' part for the moment," Sirius said thoughtfully. "But I'd be just as happy as a rich and handsome muggleborn. Maybe happier."

"Is that so?"

"My mother hated me," Sirius said with an exaggerated shrug. "That made for a crappy childhood. And then there were twelve years in bloody Azkaban."

"You are," Voldemort insisted, "a scion of an old, respected family-"

"Old, certainly. And in some circles, respected," Sirius interrupted him. "That's more than you can say, isn't it?"

A shade of anger crossed Voldemort's face – and then it was gone, his cold restraint back in place. "Whatever do you mean by that, Master Black?"

"Again with the 'Master' business," Sirius sighed. "I told you-"

"_I asked_," Voldemort said through gritted teeth, "what you meant by your comment."

"You've always advertised the fact that you were the Heir of Slytherin," Sirius said matter-of-factly. "Any pureblood knows how the line of Salazar Slytherin progressed through the ages. The latest mention was of the remnants of the Gaunt family. I know for a fact," Sirius raised a finger, "that your Death Eaters pretty much take you for the son of Merope and Morfin Gaunt. The dates click and the Gaunts had been marrying their own siblings for several generations before you – to keep the blood pure. That's why some purebloods were reluctant to join you the first time. Every old family did some marriages between cousins at one point or another, but incest is the one line that the saner of us never crossed."

Sirius had to admire Voldemort's self-control. He was openly baiting him, after all. It wasn't perhaps the smartest thing to do, but he really just couldn't help himself.

"So," Voldemort said smoothly, "you claim that my followers think me an inbred whelp."

Sirius put down the fork and knife and leaned back. "That's the gist of it, yeah."

"I see," the Dark Lord hissed, "that I have taken the wrong approach with you, Black."

Sirius cringed. _Ah, damn._

~~oOo~~

Harry's head snapped around to face whoever sneaked up on him.

"Harry Potter, indeed," said the woman standing a few yards away. She was very old, but she stood straight, unlike some people whom age bent towards the ground. She wore a simple, yet elegant robe and had a long, crooked wand in an outstretched hand. She was short, even for a woman, but the sheer charisma and magic she seemed to emanate demanded respect.

"That can't have been pleasant," she said and pointed her wand at him. The improvised bandage flew off the wound. He yelped in pain as a burning feeling enveloped his right forearm before vanishing abruptly.

"Splinched, I see?" the witch asked. "Nasty business. You should have that looked at."

"And why should I trust you?" Harry asked.

"Well, I did just save you from bleeding to death," she retorted. "And I added a Numbing Charm, which you failed to notice." She smiled at him gently, putting the wand away. "You do not know me."

"Obviously," Harry said slowly. "Something tells me, however, that you know me."

She pursed her lips. "Who doesn't know the Boy Who Lived?"

"That's not what I meant."

"I know," she said. "Ah... I must sound awfully cryptic. I rarely enjoy the company of people."

"Bit of a loner, then?" Harry asked, body still tense, ready to lounge at any moment.

"Not at all," the woman said. "Quite the opposite. I get invited to so many parties, balls, gatherings and events that I pay my butler extra just for sorting my mail so I don't need to waste time on it myself. I don't lack company. I just rarely _enjoy_ it."

Harry's lips curled upward in a smirk. Despite his reservations and the fact that he'd only met this woman a minute ago, he was already beginning to like her.

"I can't help but notice that you haven't introduced yourself. Not to be rude, but..."

"Where are my manners," the witch said with mock embarrassment. "Bathilda Bagshot. I am very pleased to meet you."


	7. CHAPTER SIX: It Begins

**CHAPTER SIX: It Begins**

"Bathilda Bagshot?" Harry repeated. "Author of the 'History of Magic'?"

The witch gives a long, suffering sigh. "I should never have written that blasted thing. You youngsters think it's the height of my accomplishments."

"If it's any consolation, it got me through four years of history class despite an awful teacher. Well, that and someone else's notes."

"Have you ever wondered how that book might have come into existence?" Bathilda asked. "Such detailed knowledge of history since the implementation of the Statute of Secrecy isn't something you can just pick up from lectures and other books. You need to travel, talk to people. That takes time and commitment."

"It hadn't occurred to me," Harry admitted. "I'm sure you could tell me all about it, but this isn't the best time and place."

"Right you are," she said. "Shall we?" Bathilda turned on her heel and started down the street. "Is something the matter?"

"Yes," Harry said. "Though I won't tell you about it. Do you live nearby?"

"At the moment."

"Do you have an active Floo connection I could use?"

"No, why would I want to be connected to the basic transport system?" She rolled her eyes. "What a pointless question."

Harry shrugged. "I suppose it was."

Harry followed the woman to a grandiose mansion on the outskirts of the village. She didn't question the poor state of his clothes, instead giving her wand another flick to fix them.

"What brings you to Godric's Hollow, Mr. Potter?" she asked when they entered the property through an iron gate.

"A rather unexpected string of events," Harry said evasively. "And let's leave it at that."

"Fair enough. I won't pry."

The air inside the house was pleasantly cool and fresh. Harry shivered involuntarily. Bathilda led him to a large, spacious living room. A middle-aged man, dressed in what appeared to be a muggle three-piece suit entered moments later.

"Madam? Is everything alright?"

"Yes, Will. Thank you," Bathilda said. "This is Harry Potter. We've just met, quite by accident."

"Harry Potter?" The wizard turned to him. "A pleasure."

"The pleasure is mine," Harry said, shaking his hand.

"A splinch, I'm guessing?" he asked politely.

"As a matter of fact, yes," Harry answered. He wasn't sure what exactly had happened, but he wasn't going to tell them that.

"Uh. Painful," Will commented.

"Can I offer you a drink?" Bathilda chimed in. "You look thirsty."

"I don't wish to impose-" Harry said quickly, but was cut off by the witch.

"Will, get us some nice cold Butterbeer, would you?" The butler nodded and left the room.

"Why not just summon it?"

Bathilda smiled at him benevolently. "Will is a squib."

"I'm sorry," he said immediately. "I shouldn't have assumed-"

"Oh, don't worry about it," Bathilda assured, waving it off. "If Will were to get offended at every such assumption, he'd have grown bitter years ago. Besides, he's hardly incompetent. While squibs can't brew potions, they can use the Floo and brooms just fine, as well as a few other minor things. And Will possesses an assortment of skills you'd be hard pressed to find in a wizard."

"Well, I suppose you wouldn't have hired him otherwise," Harry said.

"Exactly. Besides..." Bathilda walked over to the enormous fireplace. "I couldn't ask for a better companion. He understands me better than anyone."

"Didn't you say he was your butler?"

"I did, but he's much more than that," Bathilda said. "He's also my bodyguard, confidante and keeps my schedule. And he's the most trustworthy person I know."

"A friend," Harry said more than asked.

"One of the few I have left. Of course, he'll never call himself that as long as I pay him a salary."

At that moment Will returned with their drinks.

"I'll be in the library if you need me," he said.

Harry picked up his Butterbeer and took a long swig. The moment his eyes were off Bathilda, she threw a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace, causing green flames to shoot up.

"Albus Dumbledore's office."

~~oOo~~

Mulciber was breathing deeply, steadily, focusing on his mental defenses. Being a Dark Arts practitioner, Occlumency was really the only way for him to ward off the dementors' debilitating aura. Fire could drive them away, but it did nothing to protect against their magic. Next to him, Greyback seemed much more at ease. Not surprising. One of the benefits of the curse was increased resistance to magic that affected the mind. Greyback took that further than almost any other werewolf by embracing his bestial side. He now retained some of the wolfish features the entire time. Those huge claws had to be damn inconvenient with tasks requiring some sleight of hand, but they surely came in handy when he wanted to rip someone's throat apart.

They watched the three dementors approach the cliff slowly from the open ocean, their skeletal arms hanging limply down. Once the two delegations were within twenty feet of each other, Mulciber pulled out a small stone inscribed with several runes. Such stones were used by Aurors stationed at Azkaban to communicate with dementors. While they could understand human speech easily, this little trinket interpreted and projected the dementor's words into the user's mind. Azkaban guards carried them on their persons all the time. He tapped it with his wand.

"_Pretati_." He felt the enchantment activate as tendrils of magic extended from the stone onto his gloved hand.

"The Dark Lord sends his regards," he said. "We are here to receive your answer."

The dementor at the front floated closer and Mulciber instinctively fingered his wand. The wraiths of Azkaban were the Dark Lord's natural allies, true, but it didn't earn them any sympathy from his Death Eaters.

_We have decided,_ the dementor spoke,_ to take his offer... as long as he can provide new prisoners._

Dementors were always hungry and the promise of fresh sources of memories to be consumed was the Dark Lord's side of the deal. There would be no shortage of enemies in need of an Azkaban sentence once he was in power.

"He will," Mulciber said with conviction. "The Dark Lord keeps his word."

_Then he is free to come. There will be no interference from us._

"No interference is good, but we talked about something more," Mulciber said. "We need you to clear out of the fortress before the attack and stay away until the battle is done. Our forces will need to focus on the enemy, not defending against your magic."

_So we agreed, and so it will be._

"From now on, keep one of you stationed here at all times," Mulciber instructed. "I will come personally on night of the attack to give the signal. We're not sure when it will happen, but it should be soon."

The dementor gave no verbal answer, but nodded clearly. Two of them then turned and left while one remained, its tattered cloak billowing in the harsh wind. Mulciber tapped the stone.

"_Finite_."

Greyback bared his prominent canines in a deep growl.

"Dementors," he spat, once they were far away enough. "They have their uses, but I don't like them."

"Nobody does," Mulciber quipped. "At least, not outside their usefulness."

The werewolf grunted in what Mulciber assumed was approval.

"Are your men ready?" he asked. "The order can come any day now. It could come the moment we get back, for all we know."

"They're ready. Worry about your own."

"Believe me, I do. Not having to keep appearances in the society, I've been assigned to field work – which I prefer – but I can't for the life of me imagine why I was told to overlook the new recruits as well. I'm no teacher. Best I can do is pitch them against superior opponents and hope they learn something."

"Yeah? How's that going?"

"They're useless," Mulciber said with a hint of irritation. "The curriculum at Hogwarts has been a joke ever since the Dark Lord cursed the Defense position and most people, especially in the younger generation, have no inclinations to self-study. They leave Hogwarts with only the most basic knowledge of more refined magic and zero dueling skill."

"What about Malfoy's son? He any good?"

"He's not hopeless," Mulciber admitted, "but it'll be some time before he gets anywhere near Lucius' level at his age. The rookies aren't the worst though. It's the old guard that frightens me."

"Is that right?" Greyback gave a throaty chuckle. "What's wrong with them, now?"

"They've become complacent," the Death Eater explained. "Most haven't seen combat in over a decade and even those who dueled on occasion have lost their edge. It'll be months before they regain it and I'm not sure they have that long to prepare. Snape is among the few who can bring something to the table right away."

"And you say you're better than them?" Greyback challenged. "You haven't been sitting on your ass?"

"I wasn't raised in a pureblood home with traditions, even though I should have been" Mucliber said. "My mother just happened to not be a mudblood and that's probably why my father even noticed her. He refused to have anything to do with her or me after I was born. Neither of us had an easy childhood, Fenrir."

Mulciber knew Greyback sympathized with him, as much as the werewolf were capable of empathy. Having been abandoned by his parents after being bitten, he held a resentment toward people who didn't take care of their children. His pack consisted of dropouts and orphans. He cared about their wellbeing, in a twisted sort of way.

"So, after the Dark Lord vanished, I left the country. I had no money to pay off the Ministry and be able to claim I had been bewitched. I did some odd jobs. Bounty hunting, mostly."

"I never heard that," Greyback commented. "About your father. Almost everyone assumed you were of Malfoy's sort."

"You're thinking about my half-brother. I understand your confusion, seeing as he's dead."

"Ah. How'd that happen?"

Mulciber grinned darkly. "Slowly and painfully."

~~oOo~~

_God-fucking-damn it._

"Bathilda, thank you for the call," Dumbledore said. "Mr. Potter, it is good to see you mostly unharmed. Though you do seem to be missing something."

Snape stepped out of the Floo after him, carrying a bundle of cloth. Harry cringed at the thought of what it probably contained.

"I should be able to reattach it," the Potions Master said, pointedly avoiding looking at Harry.

"You're welcome here, Albus," Bathilda said. "He, however, is not," she added, staring at Snape.

"I can vouch for Severus."

"Vouch all you want," the witch said. "I will not suffer a Death Eater under my roof."

"Bathilda, you're being unreasonable. Mr. Potter's hand should be reattached as soon as possible and he can't risk magical travel in his state."

"That can be amended – I know a Healer at St. Mungo's. Now, I will ask Mr. Snape to leave." The tone of her voice demanded absolute obedience.

Dumbledore nodded at the younger man, who turned on his heel and Flooed out. Bathilda then tossed another handful of powder into the fire.

"St. Mungo's Hospital," a female voice came from the other end. "How can I help you?"

"This is Bathilda Bagshot. You can tell Graham Grayson I have an emergency at my house."

"Please maintain the connection, madam," the receptionist said. Shortly after, a man in a Healer's robes came through.

"Bathilda," he greeted the witch. "Albus... Dumbledore?"

"The pleasure is mine, Healer Grayson," the Headmaster said kindly.

Grayson then noticed the third person in the room. "Harry Potter? My, quite a day it is," he mused. "What seems to be problem?"

"I apparated... unintentionally," Harry said. "I've splinched." He raised his right arm to emphasize the statement.

"Uh, oh... in that case, let's move to the kitchen. This might end up being a bit messy."

"You know where to go," Bathilda said, handing him the bundle Snape had brought. "Call Will if you need anything. I'll have a little chat with Albus here."

Harry followed Healer Grayson to the kitchen. There, the man cleared some space on the table, banishing everything to the other side.

"Take a seat. I just need to get something."

Harry did and stared impassively at the stump. Bathilda's spell, whatever it was, had stopped the bleeding, but the wound still looked awful.

"Splinching rarely separates body parts in convenient spots. Distal ends of your ulna and radial bone are missing, in which case they should be here." He pulled on a pair of gloves and unwrapped the bundle of cloth. "Yes, they're there. There are two options. I could cast a Numbing Charm on your arm-"

"Madam Bagshot already did that," Harry interrupted.

"Well, then I could leave it there and it will take away most of the pain, but the process will take longer. Alternatively, you could subject yourself to some intense, but short-lived pain and we'll be done in a jiffy."

"Take the spell off," Harry decided. "I'm accustomed to pain."

"Very well, Mr. Potter. Place your hand flat on the table. _Finite Incantatem_." Grayson waved his wand. There was no sudden pain with the Numbing Charm off, but that was about to change. The bleeding resumed as well.

"Sorry for that, but any other magic could interfere with the process. Now, drink this," the Healer instructed, handing him a vial of dark purple liquid. "Skele-Gro," he added, seeing Harry's expression. "And this, too. Skele-Gro is slow-working on its own. This'll help the process along."

Harry chugged down both potions, grimacing at Skele-Gro's awful taste - and then Grayson gave him another one.

"One for the bone, one for soft tissue. Bottoms up!"

Skele-Gro was already taking effect and the long-forgotten feeling of having a million splinters lodged in his arm appeared. Harry grunted and downed the last potion. Grayson took out a pocket watch and pressed a button on the side.

"We have to give all this stuff a minute to properly kick in," he explained apologetically. "Fixing a splinch like this one is nasty business, Mr. Potter."

After the watch rang a soft 'ding', Grayson laid Harry's separated hand in front of his arm, so that they almost touched. Finally, he conjured a towel and handed it to Harry.

"Bite down on that and hold on to the chair," he said. "I meant it when I said it'll be painful."

Harry did as told and nodded. Grayson touched his wand to Harry's arm and started chanting rapidly. Parts of the arm snapped together. Bone, muscle and skin moved and stretched, reconnecting.

He screamed through the towel.

~~oOo~~

After the procedure – thankfully short – had been completed, Healer Grayson left him with instructions to wash the scar with a cloth dipped in essence of dittany at least twice a day for the next week and a warning that the hand would be tender for a few days so he should take it easy. That meant no flying – Graham specified that gripping a broomstick fell into the category of straining the injury.

"If possible, you should come to see me in a week, Mr. Potter," he said. "You can't be too careful with splinches like that."

"We'll arrange a visit," Dumbledore assured him. "Expect Mr. Potter's owl."

"I suppose I'll be going then," Grayson said. He bowed slightly to Bathilda and shook hands with Harry and the Headmaster.

As soon as he was gone, Bathilda fired off a question she must have been waiting to ask.

"Why are you so skittish, Mr. Potter?"

"I'm not," Harry answered quickly – too quickly.

_Shit._

Bathilda ignored his reply. "From the moment Albus arrived, you've been even more tense then before. I imagined alerting him would set your mind at ease." She paused and looked at Dumbledore before turning back to Harry. "I thought Albus was rather like a mentor to you. Was I mistaken? Would that concern... oh, Lord Voldemort perhaps?"

Harry couldn't help but admire the witch's powers of observation. Plus, few people managed to pronounce Voldemort's chosen title without flinching. _Okay, you have my attention now._

"What do you know about Voldemort?" he asked.

"About as much as the next person," Bathilda replied. "I'm too old to join a vigilante group, I'm afraid, and Albus isn't known for being forthcoming even with those in his little circle."

"And you're known for being overly inquisitive, Bathilda," Dumbledore said neutrally.

She shrugged. "I'm a historian, among other things. It's in my nature to ask questions."

_She knows about the Order?_ he thought. _How much does she know, exactly?_

He saw an opportunity. Perhaps he could trick Dumbledore into being more 'forthcoming' as Bathilda put it, if he confronted him in front of someone not under his thumb. Granted, it probably wouldn't work – one didn't garner a reputation like Dumbledore's by being easily tricked into anything – but it was worth a shot.

"What does Grindelwald have to do with Voldemort, Headmaster?" he asked. "What is-"

"Mr. Potter!" Dumbledore interrupted, raising his voice.

Bathilda's eyes gleamed brightly. "Why, Albus," she said, "I would've thought you told your apprentice all about that."

~~oOo~~

"Everything is settled, then."

"Indeed." Dolores Umbridge rose from her seat. "Lucius Malfoy delivered on his promise. The Board of Governors approved my appointment as the Defense instructor next semester."

"You know how important this is, Dolores," Fudge said. "We need to contain the situation. It is imperative that I know what goes on in Hogwarts. The warlocks are beginning to question some of my policies - we can't afford to be uninformed any longer."

"Absolutely, Minister." She collected the documentation and left, passing Scrimgeour in the door. He cast a disgusted look at the Senior Undersecretary. His dislike for her was widely known; many mid to high ranking employees shared this opinion and yet Minister Fudge refused to fire or even demote her.

"I know what you're thinking, Rufus," Fudge said loudly when the door closed behind the woman. "You've made your opinion known many times in the past."

"And I stand by it," Scrimgeour retorted. "Honestly, Cornelius, I cannot comprehend why you keep her around. That woman is despicable and a menace. She does more harm than good."

"She possesses certain skills that I value very much," the Minister retorted. "And many people agree with me."

"Fine," Scrimgeour relented. "Any time spent talking about Dolores Umbridge is time wasted anyway. I have some reports I think you should take a look at."

Fudge groaned with frustration. "As if didn't have enough problems already..."

"There's no real problem – yet," Scrimgeour said. "But there are reasons for concern."

"Well?"

"Greyback."

The Minister's eyes narrowed as he accepted a folder from Scrimgeour. "Is this about the Registration Act amendment?" he asked.

"Possibly. We've observed increased werewolf activity all over the country and within communities abroad, especially in Ireland and France. Even the foreign werewolves are protesting. They fear this legislation might push other European governments into passing similar laws."

"Do you think I should veto it?" Fudge asked seriously. "We can't afford a werewolf revolt in the current state of affairs."

"Your Undersecretary spearheaded the Registration Act four years ago and the amendment was her idea as well," Scrimgeour said flatly. "I think you already know my opinion."

Fudge sighed heavily. Rufus had been one of the staunchest opponents of the original law four years ago. While he agreed that some form of government-sanctioned control was necessary, he protested categorizing werewolves as 'Dark creatures'.

"They're people," he argued then. "This law will come back to haunt you someday, I'm telling you."

Fudge supported the bill more as a favor to Dolores, who had helped with his campaign, than anything else. He thought at the time that some of the proposed regulations were a bit constrictive, but it wouldn't matter in the greater scope of things. Werewolves were such a small portion of the population...

It seemed he had underestimated them.

"Alright," he said at last. "Yes, I agree that the amendment is quite... extreme. But I'll have to talk to Dolores first. I can't just go behind her back like that."

"Do what you think is best, Cornelius," Scrimgeour said. "Part of my job is to advise you and you've just been advised."

"I did actually make some inquires, you know," Fudge said. "I even wrote Amelia, but she returned my letter unopened."

"Hardly surprising. That farce of a trial was a mistake and you know it."

"Yes, yes, I made a mistake!" Fudge erupted. "But I can't just revoke my decision. I start doing that, I might as well hand over the Ministry to Dumbledore!"

"I'm not sure what I've done to deserve you taking your frustration out on me," Scrimgeour said dryly.

Fudge leaned back into his chair. "I apologize, Rufus. The last few days have been difficult. Is there anything else?"

He was handed another file. "There's unrest in Azkaban," Scrimgeour said. "Dementors seem unusually excited, almost as if they're waiting for something. They've been paying less attention to the prisoner and they, in turn, have been quite vocal about the quality of food, among other things."

"Oh, bother," Fudge muttered. "Any idea what's happening?"

"Not yet," Scrimgeour answered. "But I'm looking into it."

"Very well. Keep me informed."

"Of course." The Director collected the reports and promptly left.

Fudge pressed a button on a panel to his left. "Weasley, is there anything left on the schedule?"

His assistant's voice emerged from the speaker as clear as if he were standing right next to him. "You have the last meeting of the day, sir, with Directors Plateau and Crouch, in ten minutes. Will you be receiving them in your office?"

"Oh Merlin, no," the Minister said. "I need to get out of here. Inform them that we shall meet in the Cabinet Room. And please tell the cafeteria to send up some refreshments."

"Right away, sir."

Both men were already waiting for him when he walked in.

"Marcus," he greeted the Director of the Finance Department.

"Minister."

Marcus Plateau was promoted to his current position by Fudge himself, upon his election as the Minister. Despite being in charge of one of the more influential Departments, he was better known for being Keira Zabini's eighth husband. Fans of conspiracy theories speculated that the wizard of French heritage had found a way to reign in 'the black widow'. Fudge dismissed any such rumors. Not because he had evidence to disprove the claims against Mrs. Zabini (who famously kept her maiden name) but because he wasn't sure he wanted to know the truth.

Crouch didn't speak, merely inclined his head. The Chief of Diplomacy returned to work shortly after the ordeal culminating in near murder at the hands of his own disgraced son, who had somehow escaped Azkaban. In hindsight, Fudge regretted his decision to have the man Kissed on the spot - a dead man couldn't testify and Bartemius had been tight-lipped about the whole thing, focusing on work instead. Even with his reputation as unsteady as it was, he remained surprisingly effective as Director of the Department of Magical Cooperation.

"Barty," Cornelius said and nodded. "You look tired." His observation was left without comment.

"What's the news, Marcus?"

Plateau cleared his throat. "Technically, Cresswell should be here as well, since this concerns the goblins to an extent, but he's been working himself crazy and I don't blame him for taking the day off."

"Goblins?" Fudge almost dropped he cup of tea he was pouring himself. "If there's an issue with them, it would've become apparent sometime ago. Why wasn't I informed earlier?"

"Because it didn't look important," Marcus replied. "Things have escalated in the last few days, however. They are protesting certain financial operations being conducted. Some of the account holders have been making large withdrawals for no apparent reason."

"Bah. What seems to be the problem?" Fudge asked. "The goblins already hold our gold, why should it concern them why people make withdrawals?"

"It doesn't when everything seems to be in order," Plateau replied. "But my Department has noticed an interesting pattern." He flipped open a folder in front of him and slid it across the table. "Some of the richest of Gringotts' clients have been moving large sums of money out of their flag accounts and altogether closing smaller ones. Dozens of vaults were emptied just last month."

"And this should concern us why?" Fudge wasn't convinced.

"Bartemius? You want a crack at it?"

Crouch straightened in his seat. "I managed to find out that some of that money is being moved abroad, to foreign branches of Gringotts."

"Gringotts is an international institution," Cornelius stated the obvious. "Private citizens have a right to relocate their assets, don't they?"

"Of course," Marcus replied. "But there is no reason to do it in such a roundabout way."

"Our ambassador to France has been alerted to the fact that some people withdrew money only to move it to the Parisian branch," Crouch said.

"Gentlemen, can you please get to the point?" The Minister was quickly getting irritated.

"The same thing could have been done via Gringotts itself," Marcus said. "The goblins can move money between different national branches. The fee for the service is negligible and it's much faster than doing the same thing without their assistance."

"The question is, why go to such lengths?" Crouch put in.

"And the answer – because this kind of maneuver makes the money largely untraceable. Gringotts is valued for secrecy and strict upkeep of the client privilege. We only know about the money that went across the Channel thanks to anonymous tips."

"Again – why should all of that interest us?" Fudge asked. "Forgive my ignorance if I'm not seeing something obvious, but-"

"You're forgiven, Minister," Marcus interrupted. "But it's troubling that you were ignorant of all this, considering that it started with Lucius Malfoy with whom you enjoy a close relationship."

Fudge leaned forward. Now this sounded like something he should be interested in. "Lucius has been moving his money? Why?"

"That is what we're trying to find out. Sadly, our efforts have been in vain. The money we tracked via the anonymous informant belongs to Vilhelm Nott. We have no idea what happened to whatever assets Malfoy chose to liberate from the London branch. We suspect it's in Paris, but cannot be sure unless we have the French Ministry's cooperation."

"Well, then get it!" Fudge demanded.

"We've tried," Crouch said, "but we've been rebuffed. As you're aware, Etienne Delacour's daughter was the Beauxbaton champion in the Tournament. He was unimpressed with the lack of security."

"Not to mention the still unexplained death of a student," Marcus added. "Made even more disturbing by the fact that his body showed signs consistent with exposure to the Killing Curse."

"Who else has been making withdrawals?"

"Parkinson, Avery, Macnair... All prominent purebloods with considerable fortunes."

"And coincidentally, all formerly accused of being Death Eaters and then exonerated," Crouch chimed in.

"It is an intriguing parallel to very similar happenings from almost twenty years ago," Marcus said. "Only back then, there were a lot more names. Most of those individuals are either dead or in Azkaban. The amount of money is comparable – just controlled by fewer people. To sum up, we are observing activities almost identical to those that preceded the start of the last war. And we can't help but wonder at the possible connection between that and what the Headmaster of Hogwarts has been saying recently."

Crouch then put a final nail to the coffin. "International media coverage of the Tournament hasn't presented us in favorable light. ICW is at a loss for an explanation as to why Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter are presented as liars in domestic papers, when only weeks ago they enjoyed a much more positive kind of popularity."

"So, Minister." Plateau leveled a drilling gaze at Fudge. "_That_ is why we should be concerned."

~~oOo~~

Dumbledore placed a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"To be completely honest, I never thought your nephew's name would come up," he said.

Bathilda looked away with a bored look on her face. "I suppose that's a sensible prediction."

Harry's head was spinning.

"What- Grindelwald is _your nephew_?"

"Surprised?" the witch asked. "I'm not your typical grandma, Mr. Potter. I've never baked a single cookie."

"_Harry_," Dumbledore warned. "I think you'll agree that we must talk. In private." He looked up at Bathilda. "Thank you for your assistance. Can I count on your secrecy?"

"Who do you take me for, Albus?" The witch seemed offended. "I may be old, but I realize that we're at war – or soon will be. You will have no trouble from me." She paused. "Perhaps I could even help. I'm not signing up for the Order of the Phoenix, mind you-"

"I wouldn't presume," the Headmaster put in.

"-but it would be nice to feel... needed again."

"I shall keep that in mind. Mr. Potter, if you would." He gently prodded Harry towards the Floo.

"Where to?" Harry asked, resigned. That conversation would have to take place sooner or later.

"Hogwarts."

In the office, the Headmaster gestured for Harry to sit down.

"I'll stand, thanks."

Dumbledore closed his eyes for a moment. "I'm sorry, Harry."

Harry's eyes widened in surprise. Definitely not what he was expecting.

"You're sorry," he repeated flatly. "Well, if we're starting with apologies, I'm sorry too."

"I'm assuming you're referring to the Killing Curse you tried to cast at me," the Headmaster said. "It's quite alright. I understand why you did it."

"I... really don't know what to say, now."

"You needn't say anything, Mr. Potter. In fact, I'll ask you to listen. I have more than just one apology to make."

Harry's eyes stopped darting around the room and he risked looking the Headmaster in the eye.

Nothing.

He was almost daring Dumbledore to try but the elder wizard merely looked on sadly.

Harry sat down. "What does that mean?"

"I feel... ashamed," Dumbledore began. "I've always considered myself to be a rather clever person, but even I clever people can fall prey to simple human vices. Pride, fear... I wasn't above them. I'm telling you this, so that you understand. At the time of Voldemort's rise, I had already forgotten what war was like. Well, perhaps that's not the best way to put it... I remembered World War Two and dueling Gellert Grindelwald, but thirty years of peace have lulled me into a false sense of safety, like many others. I was finally free to pursue my interests and thought fighting was over for me. I was wrong."

"You see, even at its worst, Grindelwald's war never truly reached our shores. Most of the fighting took place on the continent. Compares to France, for example, Britain was quite safe. That's one of the reasons why our diplomatic relations with France have been on the cold side ever since - our leaders at the time decided not to get involved. Even I only intervened when it was obvious that things have taken a worse turn for Gellert and his allies. Still, I did my part – Gellert was captured and imprisoned in a fortress he built himself."

"Voldemort... was different than his predecessor. He operated in more subtle ways, being ill-suited for open warfare. Years passed before we even noticed something was happening. Voldemort predicted that, of course, and acted decisively – we were just beginning to mount a defense while was ready to launch an assault. But that's enough history for the moment."

"I feel ashamed because I was the one to bring Voldemort into our world. I can't help but feel responsible when it was my inaction that pushed Tom Riddle onto a Dark path. It is a burden I shall carry even if he is defeated."

"Pardon me, Professor," Harry said, "but what does all of that have to do with me?"

"I said earlier that you and Voldemort were alike and I stand by that statement."

Harry bristled. "I'm _not_ like Voldemort."

"The suggestion offends you, because when you look at Voldemort, you see a powerful Dark Lord, willing to murder infants to achieve his goals. But I knew Voldemort before he became like that. If you had seen what I saw, you'd understand. I have never met two people so different and yet so alike."

"You are both halfbloods, orphaned at a young age. You both grew up in... difficult environments. You're both scions of powerful bloodlines and talented wizards yourselves. Each of you commands respect of others. And you possess a certain charisma, though Voldemort's is... more subtle. Most importantly, however, you were both forced to make difficult choices very early into your lives. More often than not, there were no 'good' options to choose from – only greater and lesser evils. The difference between you is that Tom Riddle was refused help – by myself, no less. I let myself by held back by my superiors... Instead of doing the right thing, I chose what was easy."

"When you entered this school, Harry, I was reminded of my failure with Tom every time I looked at you. I was determined to avoid making the same mistake again, which, with the prophecy in place, could become my greatest one yet. And that is why I owe you an apology."

Harry sank into the chair, thoughts running wild.

"I've never been very eloquent," he said after a long silence. "But now I find myself more speechless than I thought was possible."

"Like I said earlier, I understand the reason behind your rather spectacular escape from my house. Facing Voldemort in his true form must have been quite a terrifying eye-opener. I cannot fault you for seeking a way to bridge the gap between him and yourself. I just wish you'd come to me before probing the Dark Lord's mind. Dark Arts are powerful, but they're hardly 'the power he knows not'."

"So what now?" Harry asked cautiously. "Do we just... forget what happened? Move on?"

"I admit that I am not blameless," Dumbledore agreed. "In fact, you could argue that most of the blame falls on me and you wouldn't be wrong. Your usage of the Killing Curse is quite easily explained."

"I can't believe you actually said that. I... well, it was the heat of the moment... but I tried to kill you."

"Your inability to summon Patronus and successful casting of Fiendfyre also fit into that explanation, as well as your... erratic behavior. Dark Arts are feared for a good reason, Harry. Dark magic affects the mind. Many ambitious witches and wizards sacrificed their sanity for power that it promised."

"Are you telling me I'm going insane?" Harry asked, deadpan.

"Not at all," the Headmaster replied. "It would take extensive abuse of Dark magic on your part to reach that stage. You are, however, beyond the point of no return."

"That's... ominous."

"Your connection to Voldemort must have sped up the process," Dumbledore mused. "I fear from now on, you shall have to rely on fire to drive off dementors. Some kinds of magic, like the Patronus Charm, are lost to you." Dumbledore gave him a serious look. "You don't seem surprised."

"I was in Voldemort's head, Professor," Harry said with a shrug. "I knew what I was getting into. Mostly."

"We can address that issue in more detail later. For the moment, there are more pressing matters. I believe neither of us wants a repeat of our..."

"Disagreement?" Harry proposed.

Dumbledore nodded. "If that satisfies you, I am willing to make an Unbreakable Vow."

"I don't think that's necessary," Harry said. "I would feel obliged to make one as well and I'm sure neither of us wants to be bound by potentially lethal magic. What else did you want to talk about?"

"I was wrong to use Legilimency against you, but the point stands. Your connection to Voldemort-"

"Won't be a problem," Harry interrupted.

"Forgive me, Harry, but I require concrete proof. I trust you; I don't trust Voldemort."

"Very well. Cards on the table," Harry said. "I knew where and when Wormtail would be, because _I_ sent him there."

_I'm sure you can figure that out._

Dumbledore stared at him blankly for a moment and then his eyes were twinkling again.

"I can only imagine how displeased Voldemort must have been to find himself... out of control."

"He shut the connection down himself."

The twinkle died.

"Not for the first time, Harry, you've shown the ability to think on your feet. Voldemort has once again underestimated you... But he's not the only one prone to repeating that particular mistake."

A sudden, unexplained feeling of dread settled in his stomach.

"What are you saying, Professor?"

"I regret to inform you that Sirius has been captured."

**AN:** I like cliffhangers. Deal with it ^^


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